What I Believe
by Nozonda Hiiro
Summary: It all started with a simple act of kindness. A kiss, a friend's comfort, a romance deviating from the one Robert Chase had hoped for. His beliefs about himself shift, along with the beliefs of the other men surrounding him. Hou/Cha, Cha/For
1. There's always a Catch

Chapter One:

His leg was killing him! Why the hell did it bother him so much?! Doctor Gregory House was limping his way down the hallway, his bad leg trembling hysterically, even with the presence and usage of his cane. He was gripping the staff so tightly that his knuckles were chalk-white.

Chase held the analysis results of the current patient closely in his hands as he listened, without much purpose, to the conversation of Cameron and Foreman. He watched the hated man limping some feet away come to a stop, his leg still shaking like crazy. Chase focused on the bad leg: Was it going to give out?

_The files splattered against the floor…_

"GREG!"

House continued to gaze at his cane, which had clattered onto the floor. What on this earth had the nerve, audacity, or enough care to catch him from his fall? He turned his head the best he could to see the figure in the wake of him: the being that had enough heart to help someone who seemed heartless to the eyes that now stared upon them. He now stared into the eyes that of Robert Chase. How dare he break his fall? How dare he touch him?! How _**DARE**_ he call him "_**Greg**_"?!

"House, are you alright?"

House raised a brow. Chase _hated_ him, right? _**Loathed him entirely**_…why would he bother to catch his fall? The look of confusion now faded into his usual "I'm going to say something sarcastic" look, then into an expression of dawning: he touched him…and he called him…Gr-that name!

"House?"

"You're _**touching**_ me…" House started, his eyes fixed on the man so hard that he could see the sweat that was going to drop from his face. "And you called me _**Greg**_." He raised a brow again. "The question here is are _you_ alright?" He broke from Chase's grip. "Yeah. I'm okay." He answered, though he winced within.

"I don't think you're okay, House." Chase told him boldly.

"And I don't think you're my _**mother**_!" House growled, but he nearly stumbled onto the floor and Chase caught him once more.

"Stop catching me, will you?!" House flared, now officially pissed. Chase freed one arm to fetch the walking stick from the floor. He handed the rattan to him with a bit of force.

_Be happy I bothered to catch you…_

House gripped his cane for a second time, and glowered at Chase, waiting for him to let go. Instead of the desired action, Chase tucked himself under House to hold him up.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Chase ignored House's vulgar tone and asked Foreman to pick up the scattered files from the floor. He complied with the request as the flaxen practically dragged House (House was doing his best to go the opposite direction in the truly desired direction, which was the conference room.) to get him to move. He eventually gave up and let Chase guide him, which stained his pride. He'd get him back, though. Oh, yes, he'd get him back. He'd get him back for forcing his help upon him, having the nerve to call him…you know, and having a big enough heart to catch him! House looked down at the floor: though he wasn't blushing, he could feel his face get hot. Nobody ever forced him that way, nobody had actually proved him wrong, and nobody ever disagreed with his lie of "I'm okay". Someone had actually done it; someone had actually done it, and now he was at the mercy of this man.

…_Okay, now you're over exaggerating a little…But still. HE CALLED ME "GREG"!_

When the team entered the conference room, Chase made his way to the edge of the table before wriggling from under the other man. Foreman slid the results onto the table and found his way to a seat. Chase sat in the back chair on the right corner of the table; behind Foreman, and across from Cameron.

And it began: the usual "What do you think" routine. House would take every idea that they had, and then found someway to make a completely logical idea seem foolish. Chase hated him for that. He looked over to Cameron, with a "why did I catch him? I regret it already" look.

"Alrighty then!" House exclaimed in his usual cheerful "just got a new patient" tone. "Let's get started, shall we? Cameron, Foreman, re-check the results to make sure he's not brain damaged. C'mon wombat," Chase hated it when he called him that. "We're gonna meet our buddy from Land of the Rising Sun." He limped to the doorway, but stopped before he opened the passage. He pointed his cane at the fair-haired man. "It's like human transmutation in alchemy." Chase stood near the table, now a bit flummoxed.

"What are you talking about?"

"In alchemy," House started, resting on his cane once more, "Human transmutation was considered taboo…Much like—"

"Oh, I'm sorry about that I just—uh—didn't want you—um…I just didn't—er…"Chase stammered helplessly. He didn't understand it: he knew what he wanted to say but…he just couldn't say it.

"Say it already!" House complained, jabbing his cane toward him again.

"I—uh…just didn't want you to get hurt."

House stared at him for a moment. _Didn't want me to get hurt?_ He wasn't sure what to say. Those words had never been said to him before…by anyone. His eyes raced across the floor, thinking of what to say at such an awkward moment. His head shot up as he became his usual assy self again. He opened the door of the conference room, letting the door close just as Chase made to reach the handle.

"You could've held the door, you know." Chase complained once the duo began their way to the elevator.

"I know. But unlike you, I don't care whether you get hurt or not." House replied sharply, pressing the up arrow button, now that the short trip to the elevator was over.

"I should've let you fall."

"I know. But like a mom, you care too much."

"Will you let it go? Is it that big of a deal?" Chase shot, heat creeping up his neck. House seemed to know every way to get under his skin. Or maybe he was too sensitive. He didn't know, or care right now as he stepped onto the half-crowded elevator, keeping his eyes as far away from House as physically possible. House independently made his way onto the back of the elevator, which seemed like the most comfortable spot right now, or maybe his was trying to prove to him that he was fine and didn't need anyone's help. Prideful jackass. To Chase, the elevator ride seemed to last forever. He couldn't stand being so close to House after he'd worked him up so quickly. The doors finally parted on the right floor! Chase stepped out first, relieved to have some space between himself and the—he couldn't find the right word, insult, or metaphor to describe House at the moment.

As both men entered the patient's room, Chase listened to the light conversation between the patients and his company in Japanese. The patient's company settled as they set eyes on the two doctors.

"Oi! Gaki, anata wa Eigo ka?" House questioned rudely, apparently referring to the teenager lying in the bed. Chase could only assume: he didn't know Japanese.

"Yes. You did a good job. But…could you lay off the gaki thing? It's kinda harsh." The boy replied. He had a messy mixture of black and blue hair that nearly covered his eyes, had he not pushed it back. He wore Nike glasses, and behind them remained a dark pair of brown eyes. Chase thought the eye color reminded him of Foreman: if you didn't know, you'd believe the boy had no pupils because his eyes looked as if they were black. Like coffee: it looks dark until you shine a light through it; then you could see that it was actually brown.

"Good. Then I'm leaving you with Chase."

"You're what?!" Chase fumed. "I thought 'we' meant 'you and me'!

"That was before I told you that Cuddy gave me clinic duty. Cuddy gave me clinic duty so I'm leaving you here."

Redness crept up Chase's neck as he shot daggers to House with his eyes; he could even feel his lips quiver in his irritation. He released a large sigh after House limped out the room.

"Er…" Chase wasn't sure where to start, though he usually started with the name. He looked down at the boy's name, and instantly recoiled at the thought of even trying to pronounce it. "I'm Doctor Chase. Um…How do you say your name?"

The boy smiled shyly and casually told him that his name was backward on his records and gave him the name "Taichi."

"But you can call me Tai for short." He smiled, and for a moment, Chase believed there was nothing wrong with him.

"Are you sure there's something wrong with you?" Chase asked, truly curious. He looked like perfect health, he sounded like perfect health, and he even acted like perfect health! What in the blazes was he here for?

"It's not me who's sick at all. It's…Nakanishi." Tai looked down and let his eyes dart across the floor. His company slowly dismissed themselves as Tai seemed to take a heavier mood.

"Who's Naka…Nakanishi, Tai?" Chase pulled up a chair as the boy closed his eyes, letting brackish tears slip down his cheeks.

"He lives up here…"

Tai pointed to his head. "He's sick. And he just wants to get better." He began to cough. He coughed some more.

"Tai…are you alright?" The boy kept coughing. When his coughs subsided enough for him to speak, he looked up a Chase through the top of his glasses before he took them off.

"Tai? Who's Tai?"

Chase gave the boy complete eye contact. "Do you know who I am?" The boy shook his head. He quickly changed his clueless expression and smiled.

"Nakanishi." He extended his arm for Chase to take. "I'm six."

Chapter One-End

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A/N:

I had a bit of a hard time writing this, I apologize if it's too crappy. I promise I'll get to the H/Ch part. I'm not sure if Tai or Naka are important yet…I hope so. Er…All the legal mumbo jumbo about not owning House and that it belongs to David Shore. But like every other copyrighted characters I've written about in a fic, House is locked in my closet with Mugen and Saitou.

1 Oi! Gaki, Eigo desu ka?-Hey! Brat, do you speak English? (Japanese)


	2. New Jersey is for Kissers

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Chapter Two: New Jersey is for Kissers 

Chase burst into the conference room.

"He has multiple personalities." He panted.

"Did you run all the way down here?" House questioned, raising a brow.

"The elevators were taking too long. He needs a psych screening."

"Or a trauma screening. Trauma to his head causes the migraines, the nausea, and the little kid living inside his head.

"But nothing's happened for him to undergo trauma…" Chase thought aloud, now chewing on the end of an eraser.

"Nothing that you know about."

"You really love contradicting me, don't you?" the flaxen inquired, now a bit irritated. "And if you knew what was wrong with him, why'd you even bother to let us go run all these tests if they were completely useless?"

House smirked. Chase hated that smirk, because he knew it lead to either A) something sardonic and callous, or B) it was going to be something honest and irking.

"I can only answer one question at a time. All other questions within the next half hour have a 10 cent charge." His smirk turned into a bit of a grin as Chase's ears flamed red.

"Seeing you pissed…it's a massive turn-on."

Chase wasn't sure of House was joking or not; he wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

"Do you have any idea how wrong that sounds?!"

"Gimme a dime. Yes, just like the thought of seeing you in your short-shorts."

"Then why—oh, just forget it, Gre—"Chase flushed: that name was catching in his lips once more.

"What's with you and calling me 'Greg'?" House instantly snapped. In his subconscious, he really didn't mean for his tone to sound so mean, but, as everything he's ever said to Robert Chase, it came out sounding vile and boorish. He looked at Chase, for his expression looked rather childish, as if he were going to cry, until Chase grabbed House by his face and pressed his lips to his. House stared at the other man, whose eyes were now closed, and House could see tears sneaking from the sides of Chase's eyes onto his flushed cheeks. The Aussie's hands stroked House's shave, as his tears evolved into an occasional sob.

But the contact between the two men ended as quickly as it began: House stared at Chase with big eyes, his newly made fist still clenched. Chase was on the floor, massaging his stinging cheek, now redder than what he had been. He didn't dare look at House: he'd kissed him, and he'd been rejected. He let his eyes dart across the floor, onto House's shoes, which weren't matching with the shirt he was wearing, then onto the door. He could escape, but then…House would do his best to make his life like hell or worse. Bathroom…Run. House wouldn't go after him then, not that he could if Chase ran fast enough. Chase sprang to his feet, bolted through the door, and sprinted for the nearest bathroom, slammed through the door when he reached it, clasped on to the first recognizable life form, and began crying his lungs out. He knew the words he was crying were mangled beyond recognition, but he didn't care.

"Chase…you know I can't understand a word you're saying."

Chase nodded, and tried again, though it wasn't much help, because his words were mutilated within his tears. He did manage to utter the words, or pieces of words "Hou" and "kiss".

"Wait a minute. Are you saying that you kissed House?"

That was Wilson. When'd he get here? Chase knew he wasn't holding onto Wilson, because…well, he just knew: Wilson was thinner around than this…and he didn't smell like Sean John. Wilson always smelt of Calvin Klein, and the faint scent of House buried under that. Chase nodded against Foreman's chest.

"And…he hurt you?"

Wilson again. Chase nodded once more. He didn't dare look at Foreman either; for all he knew, Foreman was straight as a board and probably didn't care about how he'd just been punched by his boss after kissing him.

"Wilson, grab some paper towels and wet them up a little." Chase felt Foreman's arms wrap around him as he had done with his own arms. "Would it be stupid for me to ask if you're okay?" His voice was magnified in his ears…Foreman never sounded like this before. _Is this the 'Eric' part of him?_ Chase thought as he gave a delayed half-smile to the floor.

"I'll take that as a yes." Foreman matched Chase's half smile as he released on arm to take the semi-moist paper towels from Wilson's hands. "C'mere." The other arm ended its embrace as Foreman guided Chase's face to look up, and his face was caressed with the coolness of the wet paper towels swiping at his tears.

"Thanks…I think." Chase said awkwardly.

Foreman took notice of the bruise now forming on the flaxen's cheek; curiously, then as a doctor, then as Eric, then as Foreman again.

"Right here…" he prodded the purple spot softly. "Does it hurt?"

"Only a lot…he hits hard." Chase's eyes were darting around the ugly ivory tiles on the floor. He couldn't believe the things that had happened in the last 10 minutes: Kissing House, running into the bathroom like a teenage girl, Crying into Foreman's chest and soaking his shirt with his tears like a little kid…this was one hell of a day so far, and it was still before lunch. How was he going to face that heartless thing again, and after this was over, how was he supposed to face Foreman, or that buried scent of House under Wilson's CK cologne? "Um…Promise you won't tell House about this? He already won't let me live down kissing him…" he requested shyly, now loosening his grip around the other man.

"Secret's safe with me, Chase. Promise."

"Wilson…you're not going to bring this up to him, are you?"

It was Wilson's turn to let his eyes run amok upon the hideous tiles. He knew that House would bring it up to him: it was inevitable. He was his best friend, and as big of an ass that House was, Wilson couldn't help but answer just any question he knew the answer to truthfully. Honesty never seemed to loom over him like an impending doom before. But for the first time in a long time, he was actually a bit angry with House. Even if he was straight, he didn't have the right to hit someone that way, did he? He made eye contact with Chase before leaving the bathroom without a response.

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"You forgot the spoon…" House complained as Wilson practically dropped a Wendy's bag and a cup onto his desk. "You're bothered?" House guessed, opening the top drawer to get another spoon.

Wilson said nothing: he'd promised Chase that he wouldn't bring it up…sort of promised. But at the same time, the longer he hadn't spoke, the more he wanted to. He admitted it: he was pissed with the man. Who wouldn't be? House, let alone any person, didn't have the right to hurt another: it just wasn't right. Wilson mentally damned his sense of justice, because he realized, judging by the look on his friend's face that he'd blurted the words

"You shouldn't' have hit him, House!"

"He shouldn't have kissed me. And how do you know about that?" House had started on his vanilla Frosty first, as he always did.

"So you're just going around hitting people who kiss you?!" Wilson flamed, irritated by House's careless attitude. "What if Cameron decides to kiss you? Are you going to hit her?"

"Cameron's not a guy." House jolted the plastic spoon in Wilson's direction.

"What if I decide to kiss you? Are—"

"You'd actually consider kissing me?" House stopped his spoon before it reached his lips.

"Not that I would but…if I did, would you decide to hit me, too?"

"It depends. Are you a good kisser?"

"How would I know? I don't kiss guys…or at least not on a normal basis." Wilson answered uneasily, his words nearly smashed with each other because they'd been said on such an awkward beat.

"Ten bucks say you suck at it." House finally let out the smirk that had been in his mind.

"I'm not gonna kiss some guy to find out, House."

"'Some guy?' I'm some guy? Oh, c'mon Wilson, what's the worst that could happen?" House provoked, now standing.

"You could be a terrible kisser. Or I could be a terrible kisser and owe you ten dollars."

House guided Wilson's face to look at his. "You know it only works if you kiss me. It's no fun if I do all the work." He made a mock-sad face. His fingers slid across the other lips, analyzing almost everything about them. "Nervous?"

"Barely describes it." He replied, his eyes looking everywhere but the vibrant blue eyes before him. He swallowed his heart and took the ninety percent of the ninety-ten split of the kiss. He found himself stroking the other's hair, and then deepening the kiss. He coughed when he found himself on the floor. He looked up at House's startled expression, then towards the direction of which he was looking. Chase stood on the other side of the glass, his face mimicking House's appearance. Wilson watched House from the floor mouth the words:

"Oh, my God …"

_That's the worst that could happen… _

Chapter Two—End

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Author's notes:

Good news: Chapter Two didn't have much writer's block. I think the excessive amount of Disney music helped; especially "Strangers like me". Er…So don't own House M.D. or anyone else except Naka and Tai…who finally had some importance. The title for the Chapter was inspired by the song "Ohio is For Lovers" by Hawthorne Heights, hence two important kisses, which I didn't see coming. I didn't plan on having Wilson in this fic, but I guess you always have to give a House a Wilson. I'm still working on the H/Ch thing, but luckily I don't think that eventually will be as long as I thought. Check out "Race" and much love to those who read and review.


	3. Mean Guys

Last Chapter:

House guided Wilson's face to look at his. "You know it only works if you kiss me. It's no fun if I do all the work." He made a mock-sad face. His fingers slid across the other lips, analyzing almost everything about them. "Nervous?"

"Barely describes it." He replied, his eyes looking everywhere but the vibrant blue eyes before him. He swallowed his heart and took the ninety percent of the ninety-ten split of the kiss. He found himself stroking the other's hair, and then deepening the kiss. He coughed when he found himself on the floor. He looked up at House's startled expression, then towards the direction of which he was looking. Chase stood on the other side of the glass, his face mimicking House's appearance. Wilson watched House from the floor mouth the words:

"Oh, my God …"

_That's the worst that could happen… _

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Chapter Three: Mean Guys

Chase's hands shook uncontrollably as he registered what he's just seen in his head. House: He kissed Wilson, like how he'd kissed him only hours ago. He felt the irritating burning sensation in his face as he clenched his eyes shut, trying to erase everything that had happened from his mind. He wanted to run so badly, but his legs felt like lead and wouldn't budge.

House cringed at the pain in his leg, but limped to the best of his ability toward the door of his office. Since Chase wasn't moving, he might as well get a head start before the Aussie started running. "Chase." He said sternly when he was holding the door open with his shoulders, but the other man didn't bother to respond. He just started at the floor, frozen in time. "Chase." House called again, but his voice was ignored. His leg faltered and he winced and the pain now covering his right leg.

_Why couldn't he run?! He wanted to fade into darkness: a place where nobody could find him, but his legs just wouldn't let him!_ Robert Chase stood paralyzed; frozen in place. He stared at the floor with tear-blurred vision as the floor was now being stained with his tears._ Damn, he was crying again wasn't he?_

"Chase."

_What was this warm thing behind him? He really shouldn't have bothered to ask himself that: he knew it was House standing behind him. _What he really wondered was how he'd get behind him so fast.

"Get away from me. Just—"

"No. I won't."

_Why wouldn't he fucking leave him alone?!_ Chase heard the other man inhale sharply: his leg must've been really giving it to him. _Serves him right. _What was this tightening feeling about his waist? _This can't be…but it is: his arms…around me._

"What do you think you're doing House?!"

Crap. He'd really blown it. _Was his wombat really that angry with him?_ If it was really like this, he didn't blame Wilson for being mad at him. He admitted it to himself:_ he deserved to be kicked in the balls…or his right leg_, for what had happened in the past couple hours.

"Chase…Robert…"

Had he called him "Robert"?! And…he was holding him so tightly. God, it was perfect, even if this man was a heartless whatever-he-was. The image of House kissing Wilson played in his head again. Chase shut his eyes tight to erase the image from his head once more, but it only scorched in his head even clearer than it had been before.

"You're _**touching**_ me…" he started. He couldn't believe that this cold voice he heard was his own. "And you called me '_**Robert**_'…" he forced, moving House's hands from his waist. He listened to another sharp inhalation of Greg House as his legs finally made to move. He turned to look at House, and then to Wilson, who had a strange expression about him: a cross of sadness and…sympathy to House? No, that couldn't be it. Chase found himself breaking into a run to wherever his feet took him. He heard House curse at his leg as he turned a corner.

"Fuck!" House yelled at his leg, for he'd tried a move as he now registered as stupid: even if he needed the plan to work. He'd try to go after Chase, which meant he'd tried to run. Wilson was instantly at his side, and for once, he'd shoved a Vicodin bottle into his friend's hand. House smirked. "I haven't taken any of these for a full twenty-four hours. I was going for a record…fuck records." He dry swallowed two.

"He went to a locker room." Wilson blurted, assuming that House was going to after the flaxen, judging by his previous act of stupidity. "And that was the worst that could happen."

"No kidding." His sardonic tone was back. Well, at least Wilson knew he was okay. "Thanks." He added softly. He cringed at the pain in his leg once more, and gripped his cane so tight that his knuckles looked like little ghosts sitting on hills…or what he thought ghosts looked like when they sat on hills.

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"Robbie?...Robbie, I know you're in here. This is the part where you yell that Chase isn't here." House plopped into a chair in the locker room. He looked up at the fluorescent lights, on which was flickering: this particular locker room didn't get used often.

"Chase isn't here! Now, will you go away?! You've humiliated me enough today, what more do you want?!"

"A chance to talk to you would be nice." House replied, still focusing on the lights above him. He relieved his neck and looked around for the spot where the Aussie was hiding himself. "You haven't stuffed yourself into a locker, have you?" he called, now getting to his feet. Chase laughed from wherever he was.

"Ooh…I gotta laugh. Am I getting warmer?" House smirked with self-satisfaction, or maybe he was actually having fun playing Find the Flaxen Aussie. He heard Chase chuckle at his playful tone. He stalked around a corner: there he was, reeking of an unexplainable beauty. Chase gasped when he felt the other's arms tight around him again; when he heard the cane clatter onto the floor like it had earlier the same day when he'd caught him. He felt House's shave rubbing against his neck, then somethin pressed on of his ear lobes.

"House…what are doing?" Chase could feel his heart having a boxing match with his ribs, of which his heart was winning by a long shot. He dared to look at the other man, despite his still crimson face and eyes. For the first time in his life, Chase witnessed House in what he believed was a relaxed state: his eyes were closed, he was breathing deeply, and his smirk now appeared content, not sardonic or crude or vile or…anything else.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, now opening his eyes. He then gave Chase a quick peck on the cheek. He gave him a few more.

"Umm…House?"

He watched the older man bite his lip as he released him. Crap…he was enjoying that…awkward moment of…whatever they were feeling: Chase couldn't find the right word to describe it.

"Umm… House?" Chase swallowed hard. He wasn't sure what the outcome of his next action: whether House would hit him again or if he'd do something worse.

"I like you…and…I think that we should be together."

"I thought you saved those lines for Cameron." The other man replied, now picking up his staff and turning for the exit. "Robbie…" he sighed. "I can't." he forced; now limping toward the door.

Chase looked down on the floor. _I'm surprised he didn't hit me_, he thought, now letting his eyes bounce from one locker to another, not really sure what to say. Deep inside himself were so many emotions that he wasn't sure which one to act on.

"And I wasn't kissing Wilson."

Chase's head shot up. He thought the man had left already.

"I…told him that he'd be a crappy kisser." He smirked. Chase matched the expression of his boss: he thought that Wilson would be a crappy kisser, too. "And I bet him ten bucks that he sucked at it." House gave Chase an atypical grin, and finally added the darker note:

"Before you ask why…"_—God! Was this man psychic?! _"It's not anything about you."

Chase gained his 'what to say at time like this' sense and blurted, "Then why can't we be—er— together?" House glanced at the flaxen just before leaving the locker room. "Well, if I knew it would've gone like that…I would've told him to go away…" Chase whispered to himself.

House mentally kicked himself. _I missed it again, didn't I? Damn. Prideful Jackass. I guess it could've been worse. _Chase could've not forgiven him (House assumed that Chase letting touch him was some form of forgiveness.) He thought about this movie Wilson made him watch after losing a card game to him. He didn't care about the pictures, just the words.

_I Like You_

_Go Away!_

Chapter Three-End

A/N:

Whew. Writer's block got to me this time. The name of the Chapter, if you haven't recognized these beautifully harsh lines, was inspired by "Mean Girls". I'm hoping this doesn't suck too much, if it does I apologize a million times (like Ruben S.) Read and Review please. If the fic is a bit popular (or if it isn't) I'll try to post Chapter Four Soon. (Faster if it's kinda popular.)


	4. Guy Talk

Chapter Four: Guy Talk

Chase looked at his reflection in the nearby window. He couldn't believe what he looked like. His features seemed darker; his cheeks paler, his hair seemed to flop in his eyes more often now, considering that he really didn't care at the moment. He saw something move into his peripheral vision, actually two things: he easily recognized them as his co-workers.

"Chase?"

He felt a fingernail stabbing him in his shoulder: Cameron. He didn't bother to respond, the just let his head drop into the table in front of him. It had been a full two days, 15 minutes, and 15 seconds and counting since he and House had their "Talk", if one would call such heartbreaking a "talk". He wondered of Foreman kept his word about not telling anyone. His answer appeared quickly as he heard the other man's voice asking Cameron to go away because he and Chase needed to have what he called a "Guy Talk".

Chase looked up in time to see Cameron give Foreman a curious look before she left: she was obviously suspecting something, which meant no one had told her yet. Not even House. That is what amazed the flaxen at this moment. He expected Foreman to respect his request and keep his bathroom incident under wraps, and though he didn't know about Wilson (unless House had told him, which would lead Foreman to ignoring him because he couldn't stand to listen to House's gossip.)

He expected House to tell the world, because, as Foreman said at least a million times: "House is an ass", which was true. House was a total asshole, and yet…that's what Chase really liked about him. It was strange. He loved it when House would yell at him for messing up on something; the way his eyes flared into that vibrant blue. It was like looking into the sky…but better. Chase managed to make a slight smile as he looked up to his dreadful reflection in the window.

Foreman started of with a hesitant "Hey". Chase could tell he didn't exactly know what to say. Maybe he was afraid of hurting his feelings further, or maybe Foreman wanted to work his way to his point. No…that wasn't it: Foreman was the type of person who liked to get straight to the point, if anything.

"What happened?" Foreman skipped the small talk and got right to it. He did seem to have a sympathetic tone, though. Chase made the smile at his ghastly reflection bigger: if he didn't care, Foreman sure made it sound otherwise.

"What makes you think something happened?" he muttered. It reminded him of playing Hide-and-Seek with House in the Locker Room. He let his eyes dart around the food court now, eyeing everything in view.

"Your eyes look—when was the last time you slept?" Foreman blurted, though he spoke softly. "The way your features are changing: it's screaming 'something happened, talk to me'" Foreman smiled slightly, nudging the other man's shoulder.

"It's also screaming piss off…" Chase mumbled, more to his reflection than to Foreman. He looked at Eric's reflection in the window, with that half smile still rubbing itself onto his face…it seemed contagious, that smile. Chase let a smile crack his troubled demeanor, and in response, Foreman made his smile larger. The Aussie had to admit: Eric Foreman knew what he was doing; this guy knew his shit.

"I guess my grade school teachers were right…" he chuckled, finally turning to Foreman.

"About what?" Foreman was still speaking a bit soft, as if he'd just woken. He shifted his weight as he let his infectious smile subside.

"Smiles being contagious…or maybe it's just yours that has that effect…" Chase could feel his mood lightening as he was speaking. "It's actually pretty funny. I never thought…" he didn't finish his sentence, but gave a mix between a sigh and a chuckle. He looked town at the table, and found himself with a shy smile hiding in his monochrome reflection. He heard Foreman match his previous sound and looked up at him again.

"Thought what?" Foreman asked, letting that slow smile wipe itself onto his face. His dark eyes fell into Chase's own, and God…did he know what he was doing to him?

"…I—um…I guess…God, Foreman. I never thought that…you'd even bother to _pretend_ to care." Chase's words ran together like train cars in a wreck. Foreman's half-smile faded and his eyes darted around the table. "Umm….Foreman…I said something wrong, didn't I?"

Foreman sighed. Chase thought he was pretending. Maybe he really should start pretending, and be taken seriously. He looked at the flaxen: his color had come back into his cheeks. He'd done what he'd meant to: lightened Chase's mood. He left his chair slowly, muttering only a small fib of "No." before leaving the food court. He could feel Cameron's gaze on him as he was walking, and he listened to the rhythmic clicking of her heels behind him.

"Foreman, what happened?"

"Does the term 'Guy Talk' mean anything to you?" He shot back, still walking with his back turned to the young woman. He couldn't believe himself: he was actually forgetting to be calm or cool or…any of that crap he'd practiced since he set it in his head that he was going into the medical field.

"Not really. Not when I know it's going to affect your performance here." She replied, taking his forced tone. "And don't you dare say that it isn't. I'm not stupid, Eric!"

He turned around at the sound of his first name. In the back of his mind, he wondered why she hadn't stopped following him. He was biting the inside of his bottom lip before he flared:

"Then tell me what's going on."

"You…you have feelings for Chase, but…he either doesn't know it or…has his heart set on someone else. How close am I?" she asked, now stabbing at the man with an almost innocent stare. "You don't exactly scream 'I'm so straight', you know that, right?" she joked, getting a little laughter from him. "I don't see why Chase doesn't know. I mean, I always thought gay guys had an eye for other gay guys…"

"I'm not gay…I'm just…not...straight." Foreman replied, now walking in the other direction with Cameron. There was still a whole 45 minutes he could be away form House (if House didn't come to the food court for lunch.).

"So, what're gonna do about it?" Cameron asked, a certain gleam now hanging in her eye. "I mean, I know you're not gonna sit here and go on with…you know."

"If he doesn't let me, there's nothing I can do." He shrugged, finding the table farthest away from Chase when they reached the food court.

­—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

For his luck, Chase was actually going to get to go home, though it wouldn't change anything: he was still in his trance from two days ago, Foreman had started socially avoiding him since lunch, and House's stares seemed to stab the Aussie in his heart. He grabbed his bag, turned for the door, and nearly ran into Foreman. Chase nearly screamed: he really didn't expect anyone, let alone Foreman, to be so close to him.

"Um…How long have you been standing there?" Chase said nervously, reminding his mind not to pee on himself.

"Long enough," Foreman replied, seeming to step whenever Chase did, keeping from the door.

"I'm not good at dancing, Foreman; and I thought you were avoiding me…" Chase complained, stepping to his right, only to be blocked by the other man.

"You're better than what you give yourself credit for; and I was contemplating." They both took a step to the left.

"Contemplating _what_?" Chase asked getting annoyed. He saw a smile trying to ease its way onto Foreman's face. "And what's with people's like to see me irritated?"

"What? Am I smiling?" Foreman asked, a bit of a laugh escaping him, probably from the lack of awareness he had for the expressions on his face.

"Now you're laughing." They both stepped together again. "That's beside the point. Contemplating what?"

Foreman shrugged. "…uh, just whether I should ask you something or not; Nothing serious." God! He was using those eyes again! "Okay…maybe not 'nothing'. It's something…uhm…a kind of sudden something."

Chase stared at his co-worker for a moment: he'd never seen this man act like this. He seemed nervous, uncertain; not even the Eric part of him was expected to act this way. "How sudden?" Chase asked.

"About 6:00 tomorrow sudden. Are you going to be free?" Foreman replied, his eyes gaining a childish joy in them.

"Um…Yeah. I mean, I have clinic duty, so… Wait…. Are you asking me on a date?"

"It depends on how you look at it. Are we going to walk out of here holding hands or acting like we don't know each other?" Foreman smiled. God, Chase loved this man's smile. It always looked like a smart-ass smile, but it didn't let the smart-ass comments leave them now. In his mind, Chase was actually really confused: Foreman was usually mean to him, but ever since the whole bathroom thing…Eric Foreman had seemed, well…different.

Chapter Four-End

A/N:

Sorry for the wait peoples! Not only did I have writers block, but I also was grounded for a bit. I went Omar-Crazy during this time. (Now I feel like watching Love and Basketball) Er…Ooh. Here's a note: please don't get all technical and crap about the diagnosis. I'm fifteen and I ain't that bright yet. (I'm just getting into the 10th grade when the semester starts again. I'm not even in a specific science yet, nor will I be getting into a medical science.) I'd appreciate it if the technical/smarter people than me would lay off a bit.( I was upset for about a week. Call me sensitive, but you'd be mad, too.) Er…Thanks for reviewing…and adding to favorites. Luff pancakes for all who made me happy!


	5. First Night

Chapter Five: First Night

Chase looked at his reflection in his mirror and hoped he was dressed the right way. He'd accepted Foreman's invite, but had forgotten to ask him about the attire. He couldn't believe that he was actually dressed down, though he was still wearing a tie. He stared hard at his reflection, at his brown-and-black checkered Vans, at his jeans which had a chocolate blush in them, at the dress shirt which matched perfectly with his jeans. He left his shirt out and his tie, which was black, loose. He flipped his freshly washed hair and smirked at the mirror: he was sharp, and he knew it. Chase only hoped that it was the right attire. They had both agreed on a later time, each giving the other time for their going-out-must-haves: Chase's own was the washing of his hair.

"Okay, Chase. You've made it this far. Breathe. Just breathe. Relax, it's just an hour or two and then you'll be back here. No need to worry, mate." His eyes shifted to his trembling hands. "Okay…maybe there is something to worry about, but you're not going to worry about—" Too late. Chase's heart sank into his stomach as he heard what he referred to in his mind as the "knock of fate".

Chase walked, though he might as well have stumbled, because his legs seemed to keep giving out, to the door. His shaking hand grabbed the doorknob to the best of his abilities, and by the time the door swung open, his knees regained their strength and his hands were still.

"You're early." Chase smiled. He was expecting him to be late, considering almost all of his first dates were…well, late.

"Actually…I'm late. I was going to be here fifteen minutes earlier, but I couldn't find my other shoe…" the other man smiled sheepishly. (So that was his going-out-must-have…)

Chase stared at the other man from the ground up: Timberland boots, which were tan, black jeans with beige blush in them (Chase thought that they matched nicely with the sole of the boots, to be honest); the Timberland shirt, which was also tan in color, with the famous logo splattered obliquely onto the shirt.(and a black jacket, but it really hadn't screamed at Chase's eyes yet…) But the thing that really stuck out to Chase was the hat (Which also had the Timberland logo splattered onto it, and matched with the shirt and shoes) and how Foreman wore it at a bit of an angle.

"I'm not over-dressed…am I?" Chase looked down at his shirt, then back at Foreman's. He felt a bit awkward in a dress shirt, now that he'd laid his eyes on the other man.

"No. Actually, it's perfect. Ready?" Foreman flipped his car keys.

"Um…yeah." Chase replied, swiping his keys from a nearby table.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

"Where exactly are we going?" Chase asked after he'd slipped into the passenger seat of Foreman's car. He watched Foreman give him that signature melting smile as he revved the engine, letting his answer be a short "You'll see."

"Can I have a hint?" Chase pleaded when they got in motion.

Red Light.

"Sounds nice." Foreman blurted, leaving Chase a bit confused…well, really confused.

"What? What sounds nice?"

"The chord you're writing down. Interesting combination…"

Chase didn't remember Foreman looking at the notebook in his lap(Chase had swiped it up with his keys, and he'd told Foreman that he wrote 'reminders' in them so he wouldn't forget)…or even looking his way.

"You can read music?" Chase asked, instantly closing the book. He felt the infamous heat creep over his ears and onto his cheeks. Foreman nodded as the light turned green, and Chase thanked God for not letting the other man look at him.

After a bit of deafening silence, Foreman shrugged, and said, "Where we're going is perfect for you…I think…"

"Why's that?"

"I can't tell you." He threw that smile again. "Well, I could…but that would spoil the fun." Foreman's smile turned into the "nice bad-ass" smirk. And for a moment, the timing and words reminded Chase of, yes, Greg. His Greg. Well…his "His, but not really 'his' Greg. He shook his head and brushed the thought of the older man out of his head, for now. He was going to forget the gash he'd left on his heart…and most likely keep it in the back of his mind from then. But he'd promised his reflection that he wouldn't worry about anything whilst he was out.

"Chase."

The Aussie snapped out of his daze and looked up at Foreman. He quickly noticed that the engine was off and either A) they'd reached their destination, or B) the engine had died. And assuming that B had the same probability as walking into lightning, Chase opened the car door, and stepped out, instantly wincing at the sudden cold that hit his face. Only then did he remember that he'd forgotten his jacket, leaving it on his bed. Chase turned to look at Foreman, who had pressed the automatic lock button closed his door and was now taking a last minute check at his reflection.

"C'mon. I promise you, neither I…nor anyone else here will bite you." Foreman joked, taking note at Chase's cautious expression.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Chase looked around at the bricks through the hallway in which he was following Foreman, eyeing the brilliant artworks that lined them. Was he supposed to take the decoration as a hint? He didn't know…or really care as the faint sound of music grew louder as they trekked further down the hall. Foreman stopped at a door painted as the night sky, grabbed the handle, and revealed behind it an ocean of tables, all perfectly spaced and positioned. They were quickly seated by the hostess at a table near the middle: not too far back (which would look a bit suspicious?) and not too far forward (where Chase would feel watched.)

"My God, Foreman, you were right…" Chase looked up at the current band, which played a smooth, passionate jazz as a woman spoke in time with it: her words seemed to match the mood of the music. "You knew I liked poetry and spoken word and…how did you…?"

"You scribble the words in your crossword puzzle book all the time. I haven't seen you actually work on a puzzle; you're always writing around it." Foreman spoke with his eyes closed, apparently getting into the music, or maybe even the words.

"So…do you write, too?" Chase asked softly when their waitress had taken their order of drinks.

"Yeah…" Foreman replied hesitantly. "But…"

"But what?"

"…I can only write when I feel a really, _really_, intense emotion." Foreman smiled and let his eyes drop onto the table. Had his skin been light enough, he'd blush. Chase could tell, and he smiled also, an obvious blush coming onto his face. (The waitress came back with their drinks and took their orders…)

"I want to hear one." Chase told him, conquering his blush. Foreman looked at him for a moment; okay…more than a moment. "Foreman…?"

"Er—OK…" Foreman started a bit uneasily. He was actually kind of shocked that Chase wanted to hear some of what he'd written. He stood, whispering to Chase that he'd be right back. Chase waited patiently, wondering where Foreman could possibly go at a time like that…probably the bathroom…Chase took out the pen he'd pocketed from writing more music, grabbed a napkin, and began scribbling words into it:

_There's never been such a storm_

_That I welcomed with open arms_

_The thunder, the lightning: It scares me_

_But I can't bring myself…_

_To move inside; to somewhere safe_

_I feel the rain_——

Chase looked up at the loud sound of feedback from the microphone on stage: the kind-of MC (technically it wasn't a ceremony…so the guy couldn't be the master of ceremonies…), who was quick to balancing the mike again because Foreman's foot got caught in the cords on his way up. (…So that was where he was going…) Chase wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh, because he was used to seeing Foreman poised…or at least more poised than this; o if he wanted to blush, because Foreman was his date…well, sort of. Other customers scattered applauses and snaps as Foreman "blushed" when he faced them. Chase decided to smile…Foreman was actually a bit attractive when he smiled like that: the Everyone-Knows-If-I-Were-Light-Enough-I'd-Blush-So-Hard smile. It made him look childish; innocent. Foreman took a deep breath, swallowed his urge to blush, wrapped his fingers around the mike and opened gently:

_Maybe if I…Count from ten_

_Nine…Eight_

_I'll find myself not being so_

_Passionate_

_Seven…Six…_

_Maybe if I…Hold you close_

_To try to protect this _

_Beautiful thing I'd become more_

_Passionate_

_And if my heart beat loud enough_

_Five…Four_

_You'd understand that I'm just_

_Crazy-Passionate_

_Three…Two_

_And maybe…if I… _

_Love hard enough_

_You'd love me back _

_For being_

…_One…_

…_Passionate…_

Foreman backed away from the microphone, careful not to trip over the cords again, and set his eyes on Chase with some new expression. Chase stared back Foreman, registering this new expression into his mind, trying to find a word to describe it. Chase looked down for a moment, contemplating.

"Was that good enough?"

Chase had to remind himself not to go pee in his pants: Foreman pulled a Houdini again.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Chase watched the buildings pass by from the window, shifted his eyes to the notebook in his lap, stole a glance at Foreman, and tried his beat not to think. That man was in his head again, and he couldn't get him out! Chase looked over at Foreman when he noticed that the engine was off. He looked back up at his apartment, but didn't move any other part of his body.

"Is something wrong, Chase?"

_God, no_. He'd said those fateful words. The words that could probably make anyone cry if they needed to. Chase swiped frantically at his face, though he wasn't crying yet.

"Um…Chase?" Foreman repeated awkwardly.

Chase stared at his shaking hand, and placed the other over it, suppressing the spasms. He shut his eyes, forcing himself not to turn to the other man. The moment he stepped through the door, the night would be over. Just over. And everything would go back to the way it used to be. Chase felt something soft and warm press against his cheek. He opened his eyes and Foreman's hands were moving the stray strands of blonde from his face.

"Did you just kiss me?" Chase asked, giving the other man a hard stare, then breaking into a smirk.

"It depends. Did it help?"

Both men laughed a little at what was said. Foreman had asked so innocently: it gave Chase the feeling that Foreman's blushing-smile had on him. Chase smiled at him, and let his eyes run around a bit until he could find something to say.

"I just…don't feel like going home yet…" Though he found his words, Chase still let his eyes look everywhere. In the back of his mind he was thinking of that other guy (you know…Greg?) and he hated the fact that he couldn't stop.

"Where do you wanna go? I've got three-quarters of a tank left…we can go just about anywhere..."

"Can we go to your place?" Chase asked, a childish excitement in his voice. "And yes, it helped."

"I don't see why we can't…and in that case, it was a kiss." Foreman smiled. Chase quickly declined when asked if he wanted to grab anything before leaving. (Foreman actually asked multiple times if he was absolutely sure…)

A/N: 

Poo…this was a bit of a transition chapter wasn't it? Well, anyway…all poetry in this chapter was written by me. (So I'll sue you if you use it without my permission…Just kidding.) Robbie, Eri, Greg...along with everyone else related to House MD, is owned by David Shore and the Fox network…but I bet you all know where their being held…(in the closet with Mugen and Saitou) Umm…I think that's it…so, read and review, and luff pancakes for all who don't flame.


	6. He's not Pretending

Last Chapter:

"I just…don't feel like going home yet…" Though he found his words, Chase still let his eyes look everywhere. In the back of his mind he was thinking of that other guy (you know…Greg?) and he hated the fact that he couldn't stop.

"Where do you wanna go? I've got three-quarters of a tank left…we can go just about anywhere..."

"Can we go to your place?" Chase asked, a childish excitement in his voice. "And yes, it helped."

"I don't see why we can't…and in that case, it was a kiss." Foreman smiled. Chase quickly declined when asked if he wanted to grab anything before leaving. (Foreman actually asked multiple times if he was absolutely sure…)

Chapter Six: He's not Pretending

Chase kept his vision focused on the happenings outside the car window. Not that it was interesting, but he had to look at something that wasn't Foreman. And to top it off, the image of that older guy kept popping into his head with that smart-ass look on his face. He tried to steal a glance at the other man, and he must have had a strange look on his face, because Foreman caught the expression on his face and returned it with a raised brow. He then let one of his hands off the wheel, and one-handedly grabbed a CD and slid it into the stereo system.

The CD caught Chase's eye, as he expected some R&B, or Jazz or…well, not whatever he put in.

"What CD was that?" Chase asked, looking down at the stereo system, waiting for something bizarre to happen.

"Make Believe."

"Er….Weezer's 'Make Believe'?" Chase was actually a bit surprised. He childishly thought he was the only guy that he spent time around that listened to them.

"I only like a few songs from it, but sometimes, it's just in my head to listen to it."

"Oh…so what's your favorite song?"

"A tie between 'Haunt you Every Day' and…'Pardon Me'. Yours?" Foreman obviously put it on shuffle, because track 11 played first.

"You're asking me?" Chase replied, and he either sounded really stupid, amusing, or maybe just plain weird, because Foreman gave a smile that let on that he really wanted to laugh. "Don't laugh! I wan serious!"

"Is there anyone else in the car?" Foreman asked smartly, pressing the "next" button to change the song.

"Umm…Damage in Your Heart, I guess." Chase answered awkwardly. He was still recovering from the fact that Foreman had actually asked his opinion. "Hey, Foreman?"

"Hey, how ya doin'?" Foreman joked before saying "yeah?"

"I had a really nice time tonight. Thank you." Chase said, dropping his head against the window. "..I know that I can be the meanest person in the world… [1" God, now he was singing with the CD. He really was enjoying himself more than he thought he was. He went on with the chorus, noticing Foreman's voice take the lower harmonic that you couldn't hear in crappy headphones. (Chase took note because he didn't bother to spend much money on headphones and the parts he could usually hear disappeared).

Chase stopped singing (Foreman stopped, too, for some reason) and looked at Foreman again. He wondered if he'd let him call him "Eric" (Foreman was changing CDs by this time.) Or if Foreman would hit him like House did. He winced at the thought, and then tried his best to get the thought out of his head. He decided to listen to Foreman sing to the CD he'd put in. (John Legend-"Get Lifted") Chase liked listening to this other CD. It was overwhelmingly relaxing, and he would've gone to sleep, if Foreman hadn't cut the car off.

Chase got out first, gathering his notebook and his pen (or whatever writing utensil he was using…). Foreman, for some reason, sat in the car a moment (Chase really couldn't see him because the windows were tinted, and he'd already closed the door.), and after a minute or so, he got out of the car. The blonde quickly remembered the jacket he'd left again. He grimaced at how the cold seemed to bite at his face and at his arms through his shirt. He then felt something soft, but heavy coming to rest on his shoulders, and the cold went away. He watched as Foreman walked past him, now jacketless, to head for a nearby apartment building.

Chase thanked whatever higher power that was currently giving crap about him that Foreman lived on the first floor of tenants (which was actually the second floor of the apartment building, considering that the first floor was the office and other things…) He pulled Foreman's jacket closer to him; not that he was cold…but he wanted the scent to smother him. It wasn't his fault that Foreman smelt so…sexy…oh, God! He did not just think that. "Good", that was the word, "GOOD"…right? He was relieved when Foreman opened the door: who knew what he might've been thinking next?

"Thanks again." He smiled after the door was closed. "Umm…what am I supposed to do with this?" Chase asked awkwardly, referring to the sexy smelling jacket that was still upon his shoulders.

"Just…er…lay it on the arm of the couch," Foreman replied, his arm half pointing to the living room, which was immediately to the right.

Chase walked into the living room first, yet cautiously. The nonsense part of him was waiting for something to jump from the cobalt blue carpet to get him and take him away. He looked back at Foreman, who was behind him. He swore that there was no boogieman living under the couch.

"I scared him into my closet when I was eight…Sit…This is not Monster House. My couch is not going to eat you." Chase laughed as he placed the trance inducing jacket neatly on the arm of the chair.

"Oh…By the way, you don't mind if I take a shower here, do you?"Chase almost sat down, but…the question kicked his brain.

"Go ahead. The bathroom's down there, to the left." Foreman pointed at a passage that Chase hadn't noticed hiding near the back of the living room. "C'mon…it's kind of easy to miss." Chase followed the other man down the hallway for a short moment, because the door was actually the first thing that Chase saw after he took his first few steps into the hallway.

He hadn't reached for the knob when he found his back to the wall, Foreman's lips pressed against his. His lips were amazingly soft, and plush, and Chase was shocked with himself when he threw his arms around the other man, daring to deepen the kiss. He felt Foreman's arms around his waist, holding him in the perfect way. His scent rushed up his nose: it wasn't Sean John, but it smelled good, like his jacket. Chase stared at Foreman when he suddenly pulled away, his eyes darting everywhere. Chase let his fingers reach up to his lips, of which were in more shock than the rest of his body.

"That felt…nice…" Chase blushed, shoving his hands into his pockets. But he pulled them back out, and let them hang at his sides. "Umm…Foreman?" His blush became deeper and his accent thicker. "Can you kiss me again?" Foreman's lips hastened to be met with Chase's, this time deepening without second thought. He stopped for a moment, and his dark eyes met Chase's blue…

"It's 'Eric'."

Chase looked at him for a moment, but only a moment, because he ended it by reuniting his lips with Eric's. He let out a soft moan by accident, and he wondered if the other man heard it.

Foreman moved closer to him, if it was physically possible…which Chase quickly found out that it was, now that he could feel a slight bulge from the other man's jeans.

"I can't do this…" Foreman had pulled away again, his eyes now more focused on the floor (as if it would do anything for him) more than anything. He took a few steps (though the steps were small…) back, but kept his eyes set downward.

"Uhm…Foreman?" Chase leaned forward to see Foreman's facial expression. What do you mean you can't? Honestly, I believe most if 'this' has already happened." Chase closed the distance Foreman had put between them. "And I don't see any reasons why you can't." Chase ran his fingers across Foreman's lips, which trembled at his touch.

He then leaned in hesitantly, even retreating a few times, before shyly pressing his lips to Foreman's.

Chase flinched when he felt the other's hands were found upon his stomach, sneaking around under his shirt. Foreman withdrew his hand at this, and to Chase's displeasure, ended the contact of their lips. Chase's hands shot up Foreman's shirt the instant their lips had departed, listening to the shuddering breaths that he'd brought upon the other man. Chase let out an immediate moan when he felt Foreman's lips exploring his neck. The Aussie's hands retreated from under the shirt, only to remove it from the other man's body.

Foreman began to mimic Chase, his hands hastening to undo his tie before unbuttoning his shirt at record speed. He took Chase by the hand and gave a quick "Come on" before guiding him farther into the hallway, until they went through another door into what Chase assumed was Foreman's bedroom. Another kiss started; neither of them knew who moved in first, but Foreman took it as a chance to remove the open shirt from Chase's body.

"Crikey." Chase blurted with a breathless smile.

"Is 'Crikey' good?" Foreman asked, returning the smile.

Chase placed his hands on Foreman's chest, letting them slide down until his thumbs were at his beltline.

"'Crikey' is very good." Chase let his thumbs slip into Foreman's jeans.

"If you're going to take them off, do it now…before I explode." Foreman eyed Chase's thumbs as they playfully teased around his now pulsing manhood.

"I think you're being a bit melodramatic here, Eric." Chase smirked as his thumbs slipped out of his jeans, only to place his hands to caress the shielded erection. He smiled at the sound of Foreman's pants; Foreman's hands rushed to undo the other's jeans, before he died of the raging hard-on that was begging to be tended to. Once Chase's pants were undone, he nudged the man towards the bed, and sent his balance into next week. He then leaned over him, and placed trail of kisses down his neck, onto his chest, then his stomach. He retraced his kisses back to Chase's neck, then onto his lips, deepening fearlessly.

Foreman grimaced at the pressure now upon his stomach: it was Chase's hand pressing uncomfortably into his abdomen.

"Wait…" Chase smiled. "You're at an unfair advantage…" Chase fumbled to unbutton Foreman's pants and—

"Take off your shoes…I can't strip you if you've got those giant boots on." Chase started wrestling the pants down to Foreman's leg, despite the complaint he'd made.

Foreman smiled and kicked off both his shoes, sniggering at the way Chase jumped at the loud thud they made as they hit the floor. Chase squirmed under him, and judging by the light thump, took off his shoes also.

"Back to undressing you, shall we?" Chase shoved Foreman's jeans past his ankles with ease.

"Undressing you…right." Foreman smirked, which Chase noted he didn't do very often, and slipped Chase's pants off his body.

"Damn…" Chase sighed disappointedly.

"Damn what?"

"I was hoping you weren't wearing any underwear."

"So was I…" Foreman replied, his hands already working on removing Chase's boxers.

"You're in quite a hurry, aren't you?" Chase laughed lightly at how quickly Foreman was actually undressing him. Foreman didn't bother to answer verbally, but only kissed his partner gently on his lips.

"I can't help myself." He finally replied, now tangling his fingers into the Aussie's blonde locks.

"You weren't pretending, were you?" Chase whispered, his fingers sliding around the fuzz on Foreman's head.

Foreman gave a look which clearly said "What do you think?" before giving hungry kisses to the other's neck, trailing downward to his chest. He listened to the soft moans that were now leaving Robert as he let his lips danced across his nipples before giving him a nibble. Chase arched his back and let out a particularly loud moan.

"You bit me…" Chase said with a mix of surprise and arousal on his face.

"You liked it." Foreman replied smartly.

"You cheater!" Chase exclaimed as he began to fight Foreman's boxer's to go down to his ankles.

"You didn't say we were playing a game…" Foreman gave Chase a look that reminded him of House again…

Chapter Six-End

A/N:

Crap! Foreman's so close….and I don't own him. Or Chase…or…you get it. But there is this cute guy at my school that reminds me of Omar Epps. (Oh, God he is smexyful!!) Anyway, Sorry for the wait. Between school and being grounded….production's going to be moving slower now. I plan to update ASAP. Read and Review and the Luff Muffins for the peoples that make me happy!


	7. Mind Games

Last Chapter:

Foreman gave a look which clearly said "What do you think?" before giving hungry kisses to the other's neck, trailing downward to his chest. He listened to the soft moans that were now leaving Robert as he let his lips danced across his nipples before giving him a nibble. Chase arched his back and let out a particularly loud moan.

"You bit me…" Chase said with a mix of surprise and arousal on his face.

"You liked it." Foreman replied smartly.

"You cheater!" Chase exclaimed as he began to fight Foreman's boxers to go down past his ankles.

"You didn't say we were playing a game…" Foreman gave Chase a look that reminded him of House again…

Chapter Seven: Mind Games

Foreman started another vigorous kiss to Chase's face, trailing down to his neck, where he sank his teeth in again. He smiled when he heard Chase moan, and began kissing him again. Chase arched into him, and Foreman smiled at the feeling of Chase's hot skin [not to mention his erection against his.

"I'd gotten used to you being hasty, mate," Chase panted through more of his partner's kisses. To Foreman's surprise, Chase rolled over (thank whoever that the bed was big enough, otherwise he'd be plunging toward the floor…) pinning the other down.

"Then you decide to slow down…now you're really cheating…" he complained as his hands explored Foreman's body.

"….You've heard of foreplay, right?" smirked the other, grabbing the Aussie by his hips. "Maybe you're not used to it, or maybe whoever nailed you before me didn't give shit, but I'm a foreplay guy….and you might have to deal with that." Foreman wrestled himself back atop of Chase, a very proud smile about him.

"I am not, however…a sandbox buddy."

"Sandbox?..." Chase asked back with a particularly noticeable accent.

"The kid you push down and roll around in the sandbox with before one of you pushes sand down the other's orifice." Foreman explained quickly before he gave Chase another bite, this time in a series, trailing down to his waist, where he paused.

"What? What's wrong?" Chase asked, seeming a bit clueless. He didn't expect Foreman to stop so abruptly. He'd been enjoying, in a masochistic, silent way, the way Eric nibbled at his skin, which were now becoming little red marks (which would be purple or blue by morning…). For some reason, Foreman seemed sexier than usual when he bit him…which he found a bit awkward.

"I'm thinking of what to do next…" Eric's breath blew warmth around Chase's excited masculinity, causing him to shiver and arch into the other, which seemed satisfying to the former. Foreman lay in silence a moment, remaining in his moment of thinking. He'd been waiting for this moment since he realized that he wasn't the straightest guy in the world…and he wanted to do it right. Had it been someone else, he wouldn't mind screwing up and kissing a cheek instead of a neck. He'd never really questioned what he'd do when he got this far, despite the countless orgasm-inducing thoughts that came about on rainy days when Chase had no umbrella. Then it hit him, just like Chase had when he'd bolted into the bathroom at the speed of light (or faster) and nearly knocked him off balance.

He laughed. But it was a different laugh than what Chase had ever heard before. It was the way he'd imagine either his current partner or House would laugh before taking advantage of him. He watched as Foreman licked his lips hungrily, and wondered what he could've been thinking. Chase smiled as he noticed his mind slipping into darker, dirtier areas, and then, just as his thoughts triggered him to arch into Foreman once more…

His voice was dark…and hellishly sexy. If it were physically possible, his ears would've had an orgasm. Maybe it was the words Foreman had whispered so wickedly sweet into his listening that made it this way.

"Robert…" Chase listened as this seemingly new Foreman whispered again. "What do you want me to do to you?" His voice was low, and soft, but somehow, whether by the vibrations or arousal, Robert shivered, and threw his arms around the other, placing a one hand at a smooth chocolate shoulder, and the other aimlessly stroked the hairs on the back of his neck. Chase, with the aroused chill reverberating up and down his spine moaned a soft "Oh, God, Eric" through trembling lips as his fingers dug into his skin a bit.

"That's not good enough of an answer…" replied the other, recommencing his nibbles to random parts of his body, with kisses in between.

With all honesty, Chase was willing to say "just take me", but…then he'd seem a little promiscuous. He was already known as Cameron's whore; he didn't need to Foreman's.

"Robert…I'm gonna need an answer…." Foreman reminded as he gave a dark smile and pressed into the other. Chase accidentally moaned, which made Foreman's smile widen a bit.

"Eric…I….I…."for some reason or another, Chase's accent was thicker than homemade paste. Chase didn't bother to finish his sentence; however, he kissed Foreman, tongue and all, hoping that he'd catch on to what he wanted to say. Foreman decided to press into his partner again, this time getting a rather loud:

"Oh, God, Eric!"

Foreman smiled and repeated the question. He really was curious, and he even though the part of him that made his voice sound dark just wanted to fuck Chase and get it over with, he was to do nothing (no matter how much he wanted to) until he got a legitimate answer.

"I think you know." Chase finally replied. After all, Foreman did seem like the kind of person to ask questions he knew the answer to…he just needed to confirm it.

"I want you to tell me, Robert. Knowing's not gonna do anything." Foreman removed some stray strands of hair from Chase's face.

"Eric," Robert smiled, "what to you think I want you to do to me?"

"Stop playing mind games…it's just wrong."

"Why don't you stop playing mind games and fuck me like I know you know we both want?" Chase replied lazily, but quickly, thickened accent and all.

Foreman gave a cross between a whisper and a chuckle as he stoked Chase's hair.

"I was waiting for that." He started another kiss, not that either of them minded, however, Chase felt a particular rush into him, and his expression faded as he moaned at this awkward angle which Foreman had entered. He gripped his partner at the shoulders for support as Foreman nibbled at his neck while he continued to penetrate further into Chase's body.

Chase closed his eyes a moment. There was no House tormenting him with his bad-ass smile. Only Eric. His Eric. Fervent, ardent Eric. He'd never dreamed…well, maybe he dreamed once or twice, that he'd be in this position (even if it was awkward) with said partner. For the longest time Chase thought Foreman hated him. Chase snapped out of his introspectiveness (if that's what one would call It.) when he noticed Foreman had spoken.

"…I don't understand why I never said anything…" Chase heard. What came before he didn't know, his mind was too busy reveling in his miniature world of bliss that Foreman had created for him.

"…I've wanted you for so long…" Chase tightened his grip on his partner as Foreman whispered his confession. He could feel Foreman inside him more distinctly now, not like it was hard to do so before. Chase bit his lip to stifle a moan; however, Eric released one of his own. He'd picked up the pace by now, and both were starting to move in time with the other.

Once more, an unnamed kiss started, as vigorous as either of them could give to the other.

Chase had resorted to biting down on parts of his hands to hide the moans that would've been heard. Foreman was beginning to thrust into him with a noticeable force, not that Chase minded; his eyes were beginning to glaze over. He, in his right mind, knew shouldn't be in this state yet. But then again, this wasn't exactly normal. It wasn't like Cameron and her favorite Plaything…it was…it was…

"Oh, Go—Fu—please…Fohmin…" His accent, which grew thicker with arousal, managed to shine through at the mention of Foreman. Chase bit down on his hand again; however, Foreman removed it from his mouth with a mischievous look about him.

"I don't care if the whole apartment complex hears this, Robert." Foreman told him at a near inaudible volume.

Chase, whose hands were now pinned to Foreman's bed, could only bite his lip in a last attempt to stifle moans…not that it helped; his moaning had gotten quite loud at this point, which must've satisfied Foreman to some extent, as he seemed to smile when Chase made vocal.

"Crikey, Eric!" Chase yelled, his arms jerking upward in need to hold onto something.

"Is 'Crikey' still good?" Eric asked breathlessly, still pushing himself into his lover.

" Fohmin….." Chase started, "Eric…'Crikey'…is right…." He was about as breathless as Foreman was, and was still groping for something to hold onto.

Foreman smiled down at his lover, and kissed him on the forehead. Even if it was for this night, in this moment, Robert Chase was his own to love, to express his passion to….and he wouldn't dare have it any other way.

"Fuck! God, Fohmin…" Chase moaned, drawing Foreman from his utopia. "Right….amazing, Eric…"

Chase returned the peck on his forehead with a spirited kiss before shouting:

"CRIKEY IS RIGHT FUCKING AMAZING!!"

His eyes were shut tight as he came, spilling over both himself and Foreman. A few more strokes and Foreman came as well, shooting straight into Chase, as he had in his mind on rainy-Chase-Forgetting-His-Umbrella Days.

Foreman kissed Chase on his forehead once more, before relieving his lover of the weight that was bearing down on him. He reached over to the nightstand and turned off the lamp, shrouding them in pleasant darkness filled with pants. He lazily worked himself under the sheets of his bed, and Chase soon imitated his partner. Foreman embraced Chase and kissed him on his neck. Chase was the first to speak.

"Eric?"

"…yeah?" Foreman told himself he was sleepy judging by his drowsy tone.

"You're gonna be here when I wake up….right?..."

"Robert…If you wanted…I'd never leave you."

Chapter Seven—End

A/N:

Holy crap, that took forever. Ooh…I finished this chapter on my birthday. Cool. Sweet 16, seventh Chapter. Anyway, not owning, though I did name my Rubik's cube Omar. I don't think I'm good at writing smut, but I needed it for Housey comments in Chapter 8. Read and Review please, and please don't flame.


	8. The Morning After

Chapter Eight: The Morning After

Foreman opened his eyes slowly the next morning. The bed was empty. Empty? He could've sworn that last night hadn't been a dream, and if it was….why was he naked in his bed? He decided to shower before he worried himself with what may or may not have been reality. His shower was short, as always; if he took too long he'd start thinking of random things and never get out until the water got cold. He pulled on a clean pair of boxers, gym shorts over those, and he pulled open a drawer to get an undershirt…

The white one was missing. Although he had plenty other undershirts to wear, he only owned one good white one (The other white ones had either gotten taken by old girlfriends, or had gotten holes in them.) Sure he had black and dark blue undershirts…and even red ones, but on the day he decided to reach for it, the white one was missing. He grabbed a black one, and pulled it over his head. He started out of his room (his apartment has 2 bathrooms) and walked down the hallway where he'd dreamed he'd made out with Chase. He walked through the living room, where his jacket lay...he'd given it to Chase when he saw him shudder. Into the kitchen: where the flaxen was sitting, in his white undershirt, red gym shorts, and black boxers (the gym shorts obviously had slid down when Chase sat down), at the table with a cup of coffee. He was in the middle of a sip but when he put the cup down, he stared up at Foreman, as if waiting for him to speak.

"Did you spend the night here?" Foreman raised a very confused brow.

Chase simply smiled and nodded.

Foreman scratched the back of his head. Last night couldn't have happened…could it?

"'Crikey' is good…right?" Foreman asked.

Chase smirked, and the expression grew until he was beaming.

"Right fucking amazing, Eric." Chase looked down a moment, Foreman figured in thought, and looked up again.

"If House finds out, you know he'll never let you live it down. He still thinks you're straight." Chase stated. It was true; House had been waiting for something to unease Foreman as he'd gotten bored with the breaking-and-entering comments.

"For all he knows, it'll stay that way. I really don't care if he finds out. He'll tease you first." Foreman replied, now pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"What makes you think that?" Chase's voice nearly squeaked.

"I know how to ignore him." Foreman started. "Why do you think I haven't taken his Magic 8 Ball to shove it down his throat?"

Chase laughed at Foreman's comment. He was right though, it was easier for House to annoy him rather than Foreman.

"I'm bruising. The bite marks are turning purple." Chase complained, knowing that House would point the purple patches first.

"Is House gonna see you shirtless?" Chase shook his head. "Speaking of shirts…how'd you find those?" Foreman tilted his hand Chase's direction.

"You left a note for the shower and everything. It even told me where to find a toothbrush…it was still in the box." Chase glanced at the clock. "I'm not going back home, am I?"

Foreman took a quick look at the clock himself, and looked back at Chase.

"Unless you're going to be late…no." he replied.

"And we're still hiding what happened last night from House, right?"

"Yep." Foreman answered confidently.

"Then…what am I going to wear? Your jeans and dress shirts are too big for me." Chase gave him a troubled look.

Foreman's melting smile slid onto his face, just the way Chase liked it. He gave the same "Come on." he had the night before, and if Chase didn't know better, he'd think that Foreman was going to fuck him all over again. Foreman led Chase through the living room, down make-out hallway, and instead of straight to Foreman's room, 45 degrees right to another door that Chase hadn't noticed before. Chase gave Foreman a perplexed look: the door was closed; they'd stop.

"Open it." Foreman told him. "This isn't the boogieman's closet. I swear nothing'll bite you."

"Swear then." Chase said before touching the knob.

"House is an ass." Foreman said with the most unenthusiastic tone he could muster, however, seeing that he truly believed his statement, had a bit of stress on the word ass, and Chase laughed, turning the knob to open the door.

The room was smaller than Foreman's bedroom. There was a twin-size bed in the far left corner, and a nightstand beside it. The closet was a few feet away from the foot of the bed. The dresser was against the wall to the right of the closet. When Chased inched in (Foreman more of nudged him inside) he saw a 13-inch TV with some game system on it.

"Foreman…I thought you lived alone." Chase thought aloud, eyeing the other items in the room.

"I do…Most of the time. When my nephew decides to visit, he sleeps here. He's about your size…I figure you could borrow something of his." Foreman explained, walking across the room to open the closet. It was a walk-in closet, filled with dress-shirts, ties and jeans.

"He had a weird thing when Usher started the dress-shirt-and-jeans thing." Foreman shrugged and pulled out a random pair of jeans and a non-matching shirt. He seemed to really search for a god awful maroon tie with polka dots. Chase tried to hide the disgusted look on his face, but Foreman had obviously seen it.

"It was gift from an aunt from Maine….and you never match when you go to work."

"You're right…" Chase said. "I never match. But then again, work isn't a fashion show is it?"

"No, it's not. Get dressed. We're running late." Foreman said as he left the room to get his own clothes.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Foreman turned off the engine of the car, and glanced to Chase.

"Wait five minutes, and then get out. And make sure House isn't around." Foreman instructed.

"Okay." Chase replied with a nod. Foreman kissed him on the cheek, causing him to blush. Foreman opened the door, got out the car and headed toward the PPTH.

As instructed, Chase left five minutes later and arrived to the sight of Cameron and Foreman in the conference room. Foreman sat next to Cameron; Chase sat across from her. It wasn't long before House came in, a sinister smile on his face. Foreman thought of the worst thing House could possibly say…and he didn't think it'd be so bad. (He figured it'd be along the lines of being his first time with a guy…couldn't have gotten too bad.)

"Fifty dollars…" House started, "To the one who can tell me the length of Foreman's penis." His eyes bore down on Chase, but Chase stared back, refusing to avert his eyes.

"Limp or hard?" Cameron blurted, but instantly covered her mouth to the scowl Foreman had given her.

"Both...It'd be interesting." House replied in his mock-cheerful voice. Foreman looked at House with a look that said "You did not just say that."

Cameron grabbed for Foreman's crotch, and he nearly fell out his chair trying to get away from her hands.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" Foreman yelled, regaining his balance.

"I want the fifty bucks." Cameron smiled.

"And you'd sexually harass me for it?'

"It's fun to watch you lose your cool like that." She shrugged as she reached over to grope him; this time her attempt was successful. Foreman let out the word "Holy shit" loud enough to make heads outside the room turn.

"Chase, care to guess?" House asked.

"Not really. I'm not gonna harass Foreman for fifty bucks."

"You wouldn't need to. I think you know the answer to said question."

"I don't. Honestly."

"So Foreman wouldn't mind if I kissed you?" Chase saw Foreman tense at the words, but only for an instant.

"I don't think so. Kiss away, mate."

House looked a bit shocked, if it were possible. He stared at Chase with those bright blue eyes (_like the sky but better_, Chase thought.) Chase smirked. He had him.

House's tongue was exploring Chase's mouth instantly.

Chase could see Foreman tense at this sight.

Okay…he thought he had him.

Chapter Eight—End 

A/N:

Yay no writer's block. Yay being 16. Boo not owning. Boo House doing Chase like that. Boo Foreman not beating his face in. Yay Chapter Eight Being up! Yay Reviewers and Luff pancakes!! Boo all this Yay-ing.


	9. Hidden Gaydar

Chapter Nine:

Chapter Nine: Hidden Gay-dar 

Wilson glanced up from his desk when House pushed open his office door.

"Yes?..." Wilson said smartly, eyeing House as he sat on the couch.

"Foreman." House blurted.

Wilson looked at House a moment. The look on his face made it seem as if someone had given him Warheads Sour Candy instead of Vicodin. Wilson stopped filling out paper work to observe his companion more closely.

"What about him?" Wilson dared to ask. It wasn't often that House really acknowledged anything besides Cuddy's undergarments and Wilson's flaws…Foreman was a generally under-discussed subject.

"He's gay." House replied, lying down to look at the ceiling.

"He's bisexual." Wilson corrected. "I already knew that." He restarted his paperwork.

"Don't tell me you have a hidden Gay-detector on you."

"No…he asked me."

"Foreman asked you what his sexuality was??" House turned to look at Wilson. He knew that he meant something else, but, making James explain himself was always fun to watch.

"No…never mind, House, " Wilson sighed.

"He's seeing the wombat, right?" House asked, re-shifting his weight.

"I don't know. Does it matter?" Wilson inquired, feeling a bit un-eased. He really didn't want to talk about said wombat. The incident from earlier that week still made his mind reel, and his heart cringe.

"Does it?" House smirked. It faded a bit when Wilson didn't answer: the look on his face reminded House of some sort of lonely creature that Cameron would pick up and take home with her.

"You obviously don't like him, so I guess it wouldn't." Wilson answered, looking rather toward the wall behind House than dead on the man himself.

"Now what makes you think that?" House asked sarcastically, gripping his cane a bit tighter. Truth be told, he did like Chase, but, there were other things to consider. Like his lack of actual social skills, and Chase being like a delicate social blossom that he didn't want to drive insane. Sure watching people lose their minds is pretty damn funny…unless they came with sexy Australian accents that made him want to—

"You punched him for God's sake! Maybe it's just me, but that is not the normal way to tell someone you have feelings for them!" Wilson yelled, unaware of the volume of his voice. How could Greg be so stupid?! He pushed his chair back and planned in the back of his mind to head for the door.

"Right. I'm supposed to lose whatever pride I have by pouring out my feeling like three-minute noodles down the garbage disposal!" House yelled back. He was in the perfect mood for an argument.

"Yes!! He likes you! He really likes you!!" Wilson exclaimed, now aware of his volume and the creeping heat behind his ears.

"That's how it always starts!! They like you. They really fucking like you, and in the moment they get you to Cloud 9, they kick you in the balls for the world to watch you fall, okay?!" House had stood by now, facing the also standing Wilson.

Wilson stared into House's eyes. No matter what he did House would have the last word. He decided that he'd leave him hanging. Whatever counter-comment he had wouldn't matter: Greg was ever stubborn.

"He really fucking likes you…and he doesn't plan to hurt you…" said Wilson quietly. He heard the other scoff at his statement, but ignored it, and pulled himself toward the door. He never remembered weighing so much…

Wilson stopped in his tracks when House's cane reached the door before he did. It hit the door with a thud and fell to the floor. He turned around to look at House, wondering what he could say at a time like this.

"Something I said bothered you." He said simply, limping over to retrieve his cane.

"It was nothing." Wilson lied.

"What'd I say, Wilson? It got you pretty worked up." House continued, now leaning against the door.

"'Foreman.'" answered Wilson.

"What about him?"

"It's nothing, House."

"You just said it was Foreman. Make up your mind!" House smirked mentally.

"You shouldn't have hit him, House…" his voice was almost a whisper.

"He shouldn't have kissed me." House replied in the same tone as he had when they'd had the original conversation earlier that week.

"You should tell him…"

"And you should tell me!" House replied rather sharply, at a half-yell.

It only seemed like slow motion after it happened: Wilson drawing his arm back and slamming it into the other's face.

"Do you get it?!"

House rubbed his cheek. That was unexpected. Wilson wasn't the kind of guy to—

"You like me." House said when it dawned on him.

"Yes!! Since punching people is clearly your way of saying "I like you": Greg, I like you!! I really fucking like you!! And beside that punch I don't plan on hurting or humiliating you in any way!!" Wilson screamed. Only God knows how long he had been holding that in.

"And the world will watch you crash down." House opened the door and left the office.

Foreman turned at the sound of his name being called. Wilson stood some feet behind him. He looked as if someone had painted the color onto his skin…and erased it so any trace of pigment would leave him. Foreman raised a brow. Wilson was supposed to be the happy messenger of death…not…whatever he was.

"Umm…are you okay?" Foreman asked, sounding as confused as he felt.

"He's jealous!" scoffed Wilson, his color fading back to him as he approached.

"What? House?"

"Yes! He's jealous!" he repeated, throwing his arms up. "First he doesn't want Chase; then he does want Chase…why can't he make up his MIND!!"

Thank God no one looked at the conference room at the word mind. Foreman thought the whole hospital could hear him.

"Well," Foreman started, analyzing the events of the week. "People usually want what they think they can't have."

Wilson paused. It did seem true. Shy unpopular guys usually seemed to be interested into the prettiest most popular girls…and usually had no luck. Actually…people in general seemed to go after hopeless causes…maybe for the feeling of accomplishment when they got what they wanted.

"But it's so stupid…" Wilson ranted.

"It's House," said Foreman. "He hasn't exceeded his stupid limit today." Foreman smiled and remembered why he'd mentioned to Wilson in the first place that he wasn't that straight.

"He was surprised that you're…'just not straight'. He didn't know until today…" Wilson grinned back.

"And he figured it out, right?"

"Yep. No one told. He didn't even know I knew. It was actually fascinating for a bit." Wilson paused. After the bit of fascination was over, they'd had their argument. Wilson buried it a little in his mind, but stems of it poked out of the mental soil. "But…"

Foreman raised a brow. "But what?" He watched Wilson look at the table, letting his eyes travel across it like a car on the road.

"We got into a fight right after that," Wilson sighed stressfully. "It seemed so pointless to him."

"Was it that pointless?" Foreman asked. He realized that they'd created this strange symbiotic relationship with the other. Not in the way that he now was with Chase, but rater like a dog and cat that managed to get along, guarding the same home. He wasn't sure what the "home" was, so to speak, but the metaphor made sense right now.

"We were arguing over how he should express himself if he feels something. I was telling him she should've told Chase that he liked him before someone else had him. And I still thought he should." He paused. "He says people wait for others to fall in love so they can hurt them and have everyone watch their pain. He thinks it'll strip him of his pride…'like three minute noodles down the garbage disposal'. Farther down into the argument I hit him, and he—"

"Wait," Foreman interrupted. "You hit House?"

"And he found out that I like him. I told him I didn't plan on hurting him after that." Wilson gave a smile that clearly said that he was mentally stabbing himself.

"…And?"

Wilson tried his best to imitate House's face and voice.

"'And the world will watch you crash down…'"

When Wilson's episode of Copy-House was finished, he let his real expression fade onto his face and he looked rather sad. Foreman figures that somewhere in Wilson's heart he wanted to hurt House, though it'd probably solve nothing. Foreman's arms reached out to the other and pulled him close, like a little brother would have after his older sister broke up with her shitty boyfriend before realizing that she couldn't find anyone worse, even if she'd prayed for it.

"Do you want me to go beat him up?" Wilson would obviously know that Foreman was kidding; but the question made him feel better.

"No…" he smiled. "I think there's something worse we could do…"

Chapter Nine-End

A/N:

Okay. I understand that if I took any longer it'd be Christmas. But I've got school and I'm passing most of my classes with more than a C. I've also had major writer's block…which gives me emo raptors. I'm waiting anxiously for new episodes for Season 4 of House…maybe I'll write a fic with Kutner when I learn a bit more about him. Read and Review and get Luff Pancakes!! Until Next time…I'll try not to have such bad writer's block and hope that this chapter doesn't suck that much…


	10. Attitude Adjustment

Chapter Ten:

Chapter Ten: Attitude Adjustment 

It'd been about a few weeks since Foreman had his moment with Wilson (It'd probably been much longer…but Foreman wasn't counting). Wilson and House had stopped speaking with each other, despite the fact that lived together. House made out with Chase at least once a day; it wrecked Foreman's nerves, but he weren't to take action yet. What with so many options on how to beat the crud out of him, there was a lot to think about. However, maybe today wasn't the right day.

House had come in…rather late to add on to it. Chase was sitting by Forman, who had started dressing more casually than usual. House was still taking bets on the length of Foreman's masculinity, and Cameron still wanted to grope him to find out. Chase refused to answer…he honestly didn't know the answer: he wasn't measuring.

"Can we not do this today?" Foreman asked in a new level of annoyance.

"What? Do you want me to undress you to find out myself? That'd be no fun." House sneered. "If the wombat would answer, he'd be fifty bucks richer, and we wouldn't have Cameron sexually harassing you."

"Leave him alone."

Foreman looked to his left, at Chase, who'd muttered the words with some sort of unknown bitterness in his voice. He swallowed, and his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat.

House set his eyes upon him, in a strange curiosity.

"…And I'm a joey." Chase added.

"Would our baby kangaroo like to answer the fifty dollar question?" House asked, ignoring the first of Chase's comments.

"I said leave him alone." Chase demanded again, raising his voice slightly. He grabbed Foreman's hand from under the table and held on to it.

"And I said I wanted Cuddy to sleep with me last night." House stepped closer to him-Chase's grip on Foreman's hand tightened.—"It looks like neither of us get what we want today…" His eyes looked over the flaxen; he watched as Chase tensed and began to blush. His eyes trailed down to Chase's lips, and it wasn't hard for his own lips to follow. But today was different. Today was the wrong day.

Chase's chair flipped over, the cup of pens sitting on the table spilled onto the floor. Cameron jumped from her seat and watched in shock. Chase, who was on the floor, scooted out the way to best of his abilities, then stood. What on earth was happening now? Chase looked around. There was Cameron, House there on the floor, Foreman was in the process of venting out his anger toward his boss, and—

"Eric! Eric, get off him!" Chase had wrapped himself around Foreman's waist; Foreman was busy making his fists come in contact with House. "Eric, stop it! Stop!" yelled Chase, pulling at his partner's waist. He managed to yank Foreman from House, who'd thrown his share of punches to Foreman.

"What the hell?!" House yelled.

"I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE HIM ALONE!!" Chase screamed, extending an angry, shaking finger at House. "What part of that couldn't you understand…?"

House rubbed his face, which was beginning to turn toward a deep shade of red, and let his blue orbs stare at Chase from the top of his eyes.

"What are you two? Conjoined at the penis?" he said darkly. "Learn to fight your own damn battles…" He stood, licked the bit of blood that he noticed at the corner of his lips, and set his eyes onto Foreman.

"If you learn when to quit we wouldn't have the damn problem…" Foreman replied with a tone of warning.

"Now we've resorted to harassing cripples…" House said smartly as he finally stood.

"House; Leave him _alone_." Chase said boldly. He was annoyed with the man himself, but it was really Foreman he was worrying about. He hadn't expected his Eric to actually act on what he was feeling. He was to be cautious now. He'd never face the wrath of Foreman before…and by the looks of it, he didn't want to. "Look, I don't know the answer to the fucking question." Chase said softly, but harshly.

"Fine." House grabbed his cane and limped his way toward the door, deliberately brushing roughly against Foreman, who was a motion away from throwing more punches had Chase not held him. House grinned wickedly at his adversary, though he mentally took note of how his leg hurt. But he wouldn't let Foreman know that. He pushed the door open with his body weight…maybe he'd go bother Cuddy. With Wilson not speaking to him and all, he was running out of people to be a complete ass to.

Foreman sat in one of the upright chairs. He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand and massaged his right temple with the other. He was starting to relax a bit, judging by his breathing. Cameron stared at him and let her eyes shift to Chase.

"Wow…" was the only word that left her lips.

"God, Eric, what on earth were you thinking?" Chase asked, checking his partner's face for bruises.

Foreman let go of his bridge and melted a smile onto his face.

"I was thinking of hating him more than usual…"

"Is it impossible for you to bruise?" Chase joked, taking in what few bruises Foreman had. He was sure there were more, but they were just invisible for the time being.

"Was he a good kisser?" Foreman blurted. He really wanted to know. Not once had Chase fought back when House kissed him. Not once.

Chase decided not to answer. It was bold of Foreman to ask him such a question while Cameron was standing there. It was almost wrong.

"You're joking….right?" Chase inquired. Eric _really_ didn't want him to answer…did he?

"Umm—I think I'll just…go now," said Cameron awkwardly; she tried her best to be invisible as she stalked past the table and overturned chair and out the room.

"I was serious." Said Foreman when he was sure Cameron was out of earshot.

Chase remained silent. He wasn't really sure how to answer. He wanted to be honest, but he didn't want whatever he said to come out the wrong way.

"Robbie…I can sit here all day. I'm waiting patiently for your reply." Foreman smiled, despite the fact that he was being completely serious.

"I guess…" Chase mused aloud. It wasn't a lie. Just not all of the truth.

"That's..._not_ a legitimate answer."

"It's better than no answer at all." Chase said sharply. "You're not asking if he's a good kisser. You're asking if I like him."

Foreman's eyes shifted to his lover, nut let his eyes falter; Chase was right: he was actually curious about how Chase felt about House.

"Do you?" Foreman asked casually.

"What of it?"

"I'm not letting you avoid my question. Either you like him or you don't."

Chase shook his head so his hair would fall into his face.

"Eric, I don't know…" he said softly.

Foreman paused…how can you not know how you feel about someone? ...Wait. Never mind. That was completely possible. But Foreman wasn't going to accept that answer. There was a straight--no pun intended—answer to this and he was gonna get it, even if it induced an emotional breakdown in the bathroom…

"I'm not afraid of your answer," assured Foreman. "No matter what the answer is, I still wanna hear it."

"I think you know the answer." Chase was silent a moment, but continued. "I believe that…What he did to you was wrong. It was right bloody cruel of him--"

"And that's why you like him."

"I didn't say that!" Chase protested.

"But you say it all the time…" Foreman looked down, but reversed his actions to look back at Chase. "…and I feel like I can't make you happy anymore." Foreman stood at this, and pushed his chair back.

"…We're breaking up…" Chase said more to himself than anyone; though he was sure Foreman had heard.

"…Don't put it that way; you're making it seem like the world is gonna crash down on us, Chase." Foreman let one last smile melt onto his face before he turned away and left the room.

Foreman didn't know it, but Chase had watched him every step of the way until he couldn't see his fervent, passionate, ardent Eric…

Then he cried…great, now he was crying. Alone…

Chapter Ten-End

A/N:

I know, I know. It has taken me forever and three days to get the new chapter up. However, now that it's summer, I'll probably update pretty often. Not owning, sadly. R&R and delivery of luff pastries…And I apologize if it sucks…eh. Hides behind Foreman


	11. AntiDepressed

Chapter Eleven: Anti-depressed

The ceiling fan seemed to spin in slow motion. Everything seemed slower here; so quiet. But not a pleasant silence; it was eerie. Uncomfortable. Lonely…lonely. That's what it was.

Chase felt like he weighed two tons. He lay askew on his bed, letting one of his legs hang off the edge. He'd wanted to find sleep, but it eluded him. It eluded him so gracefully it was almost maddening. Both men would fade into his mind on his search—first House, then Foreman, then House again with his bleeding lip, then Foreman with his last melting smile…

_I can't keep lying here like this, _he thought, rolling lazily off the bed. When he got onto his feet, he walked slowly to the mirror in his bedroom, and studied his reflection.

If any of his coworkers could see him—even the most pure tongued and pure hearted—would say he looked like shit. He felt like he looked like a Twilight vampire reject. He'd been sleeping, but not well. He noticed that the color seemed drained from his face…like some sort of dead thing.

"God, I look bad," he whispered to himself, managing to smile a little. He breathed deeply. _ I'm getting over this, _he told himself. He felt like he was lying, but if he told himself enough, then he would eventually be over whatever he was feeling. He felt as bad as he looked…was he getting sick?

He felt sort of queasy, like the feeling from brushing your teeth on an empty stomach. He'd been making himself eat because Chase knew he needed to. If he were going to fall into depression, at least he wouldn't be anorexic.

The sound of the phone ringing shot pain though his head. His face scrunched into a silent scream and his hands cupped over his ears to block out the noise. He looked over at the caller ID. Cameron. She called a lot now, but Chase never answered. She was probably worried, but it wasn't her business to know where he was. House wasn't attempting to fire him so he figured his job wasn't in jeopardy.

* * *

Wilson looked up when sensed that it was House knocking on his office door. Knocking…House. Peculiar, but he went with it. He was tired of attempting to give him the cold shoulder anyway. He didn't answer though, because he knew that House would come in anyway. Like he did.

"Yes?" Wilson asked.

"Foreman."

"What about him?" Wilson put his pen down and placed his paperwork in a neat pile to the right.

"He hit me…"

"Oh…is that's what the…." Wilson made a sort of circular motion toward his face. "…is from?"

House nodded slightly, and limped over to the couch. "It's been a while…"

"He must hit hard." Wilson shrugged.

"…It was for the wombat," House replied darkly.

That sort of hurt. Who knows how long without talking to each other, and the first thing he mentions is Chase?...He probably deserved to get clocked by Foreman. Wilson mentally sighed.

"If you would have approached him first, this could've been avoided," Wilson lectured. "Do the bruises still hurt?"

"It's still like he hit me yesterday." House stretched out across the couch, letting his legs hang from the arm. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"But you're the one who's at fault…you probably provoked him. What'd you do?"

"…I held a bet on the length of his penis," House answered smartly with his signature smirk.

"You did what? Why the hell would you do that?"

"Is it that big of a deal? I was bored…" House said casually.

"You're lying," Wilson scoffed. "You're lying."

"Oh, fine. You seem to know the truth," House rolled his eyes.

"You're really that jealous? You're ridiculous!"

"No, being punched as hard as I was is ridiculous."

"Oh, come on! Someone clearly shows interest in you…you're interested in them…but you let them go off to another person? You're not making sense!" Wilson stood, his face beginning to turn a reddish tint.

"Oh, like you're one to talk!" House matched Wilson's standing position. "How long did you go harboring feelings for me before you said anything?"

"Because I know you're not interested! There's no point in me wearing my feelings like it's printed on some sort of cheap T-shirt if you're going to ignore them!"

"You're looking like the jealous one here," House smirked triumphantly.

"Ok, fine! I'm jealous. I'm jealous! But it's not like I went on harassing the person I'm jealous of! I don't make bets about the length of people's genitals! I don't torture my best friend! I deal with it in the way that's the least hurtful!" Wilson breathed heavily after his mouthful, his face hot with anger.

"That didn't seem to work out…you're stuck in second place, you're a jealous, angry man—"

"Only because you provoke me to! It's not like I'm choosing how I feel! ...At least I acted on what I felt. Even if I punched you in the face, I did something! I said…something. I didn't run away!"

"I'm not running! The best thing I can do for Chase is keep him at arms' length!"

"What about me?"

"I don't know…"

House hadn't thought about it. He went God knows how long without realizing that Wilson had feelings for him. But he'd known about his own fondness of Chase, not that it helped expressing himself, but he knew. He'd had time to think about it. Great, Wilson looked sort of like the creature Cameron would take home with her. But the expression left as House approached him.

"I never had time to think about it. But Chase…he's always in my damn head! Even when I'm stoned, he's still stuck in there! He's like…he's like…he's like a spreading cancer…or brain AIDS! How do you contend that? How do you fight an emotion that feels like a disease?" Although his voice was soft, House's tone still managed to pass for a contradictory soft yell.

"You stop running from it," Wilson explained wearily. "You face it like it's one of your cases. You think about it, try a few possible solutions. You figure it out, and then you cure it."

"Not if it's AIDS…and cancer's your thing," House smirked.

"You can cure it. You're Gregory House…you can cure anything you put enough thought to…"Wilson replied, eyes shifting down.

And for the first time in a long time, Wilson saw House give the closest thing to a smile that he'd ever made. Then he leaned forward, and for a moment, Wilson thought that House was going to kiss him, until he leaned a little past his face, and whispered a small "Thank you" before leaving the office.

* * *

The phone was ringing again. Chase contemplated chucking the blasted thing out the window, but he decided to continue ignoring it. Then his cellular rang a cutesy short tune—_a text, _he thought as he shifted through his sheets for his phone. He'd missed or ignored a few before this one, too. He began shifting through his inbox; a text from Cameron, which he deleted before reading. It was probably a text asking if he were okay. The answer seemed obvious. If he was missing from work, then he probably wasn't okay.

There was one from Wilson, from sometime during the night. It was rather rhetorical. It simply said that he hoped that he coped well with the feelings that were bound to arise. Chase knew that Wilson was rather observant, and that he could tell when the relationship ended. He didn't mind Wilson sort of checking on him because he didn't pry. Not with him at least. And Wilson would just send one text or call and then leave him alone. He didn't keep calling…he didn't drive him to thoughts of destroying his own property. Another smile snuck onto Chase's face.

The text from Foreman caught him off guard. He managed to laugh a bit because it warned him that if he'd gone and committed suicide that Foreman would find him and force him back to life. He'd demanded—not requested, that Chase not let himself slip too far in his emotions, that there was work to be done, even if it consisted of doing House's clinic hours, and that he would eventually refuse to cover for him and drag him to work.

"Eric," he said, sort of under his breath. His smile still remained. Eric Foreman wouldn't accept the pale Robert Chase who sprawled on his bed like he was defeated.

But the last text surprised him the most. It was short, only reading one word—if one would call it that.

"Sry."

From House. Chase wasn't going to forgive him as easily as before, but he wasn't any less touched. Apologies are House's natural born enemy. They don't appear within the same 40 mile radius on most occasions. And here, on his touchscreen, was a simple apology from one of the meanest (though desirable) men in the state of New Jersey.

Chase smiled a bit more. Maybe he wasn't as alone as he thought. He pulled himself up, heading for his shower, ignoring his rather ghastly reflection. It wouldn't be there for long.

* * *

House leaned back into his chair in his office, fiddling with his guitar. First doing simple exercises, scales and sorts, then a few random chords, and then a riff he'd made on the spot. And then he played an E minor seventh, then a G, a D sustained, then an A sustained 4/7. He played this chord phrase until he recognized what he was playing, and began to sing the words he knew went with the chord progression.

_**Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you**_

_**By now you shoulda, somehow, realized what you gotta do**_

_**I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now  
**_

_Chase stepped in front of his mirror, fully dressed, with a look of approval. Like he expected, the ghastly Chase was buried under his bright eyes and slightly flushed cheeks.  
_

_**Back beat, the word is on the street that the fire in your heart is out**_

_**I'm sure you've heard it all before but you never really had a doubt**_

_**I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now**_

_Wilson sat in his chair, attempting to focus on his paperwork, but ended up rotating away from his desk with his fingers gently rubbing the bridge of his nose._

_**And all the roads we have to walk are winding**_

_**And all the lights that lead us there are blinding**_

_**There are many things that I would like to say to you**_

_**But I don't know how**_

_House continued to play, rotating in his chair, letting him mind wander. He wondered how this particular song came to mind. He felt his voice vibrate in his throat. It felt sort comforting.  
_

_**Because maybe**_

_**You're gonna be the one that saves me**_

_**And after all**_

_**You're my wonderwall**_

_Chase's engine roared to life and he shifted in reverse to begin backing out of the parking lot. He felt as if a new life had risen in him. He supposed that it was the feeling one gets after being resuscitated…or defibrillated. Sort of new…like he could start over._

_**Today was gonna be the day but they'll never throw it back to you**_

_**By now you shoulda somehow realized what you're not to do**_

_**I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now**_

_He'd settled for second place. And he knew it. Maybe that's what was keeping Wilson from being able to hold a steady focus on completing the paperwork that was still arranged in a neat stack on his desk._

_**And all the roads that lead you there were winding**_

_**And all the lights that light the way are blinding**_

_**There are many things that I would like to say to you**_

_**But I don't know how**_

_It described him, spinning in the chair, not really knowing what to say. He knew that "sry" wouldn't cut it. There was more…but House had never contemplated how to get it out past his lips. He could feel the vibration of the chord progressions through his body as he strummed. He closed his eyes as he continued to rotate slowly in his chair._

_**I said maybe**_

_**You're gonna be the one that saves me**_

_**And after all**_

_**You're my wonderwall**_

_Chase caught sight of him for the first time in a long while—Foreman, though it was from a distance. Foreman looked up at him and they shared eye contact for a moment. That hadn't happened for a while either. And then, the melting smile crept onto Foreman's face. Chase supposed Foreman was some sort of happy knowing that he hadn't committed suicide or fallen from the face of the planet. Chase smiled back, not knowing when he'd be graced with the melting smile again. He mouthed a "thanks" in Foreman's direction and assumed he understood because his smile got bigger and showed off his teeth._

_**I said maybe**_

_**You're gonna be the one that saves me**_

_**And after all**_

_**You're my wonderwall**_

_Wilson supposed that there wasn't much that could be done. House wasn't letting him past second place. He'd refuse to fight from here. The action that causes the least amount of hurt, that's what he was going for. At least, in the best case scenario, House would have the chance to be happy with someone, even if it wasn't him. He'd settle for that; an unselfish sense of romantic feelings. Everyone can't win, right?_

_**I said maybe**_

_**You're gonna be the one that saves me**_

_**You're gonna be the one that saves me**_

_**You're gonna be the one that saves me**_

_House stopped the spinning of his chair by sticking his heel in the floor. Finishing the final chords, he came upon a sort of revelation. Besides himself, he wasn't quite sure who else he was singing about. He couldn't single it out as either-or. He knew that to a greater extent, he sang about Chase. But at the same time, a second thought crossed his mind. In a way, Wilson could save him, too. There was a communication block there like there was with Chase, though it may be somewhat different. It could be said that they did share a special type of feelings for each other, too. He'd never really considered Wilson for anything beyond his best friend, but the thought of him being something more wasn't entirely repulsive. Great. Wilson had put the thought in his mind._

Chapter Eleven-End

A/N:

Whoooo! It's been a while! Sorry for the long wait. You wouldn't believe what happens in four years! Graduated high school about 2 years ago, went on just about a complete writing hiatus. Went through a few crappy boyfriends, moved to another state! I'm in friggin' Texas guys! I still don't own House, I'm still a very big Omar Epps fan, and I've matured so much that I can even take reasonable negative feedback. You guys remember, when I started this fic, I was around 14, maybe 15 years old. Now I'm 20! So hopefully my writing does improve and I can actually finish this story out for you guys! The lyrics are from "Wonderwall" by Oasis. I got the intro chord progression from an old worksheet I had from my guitar class, I know that it changes up after the verses start, but noting all the chords would be tiresome... If you don't know it, YouTube it or something. I think it's a pretty great song. How many chapters should be left? I'm not sure…Oh, thanks for all the reviews. It inspired me to pick it back up. ^_^.R&R and Luff pancakes still for those who don't flame. I changed my pen name because I grew out of being emo. Instead of worrying about how far I might fall, I became a Chosen Hero and learned how to fly LOL. Much Love, Nozonda Hiiro.


	12. Admitting Defeat!

Chapter Twelve: Admitting Defeat?

House sat and listened as the last vibrations of his guitar vanished into the air of his office. After some time, he placed his guitar back on its stand, stood, and reached for his cane. He gripped onto it tightly at first, but eased up as he began to leave his office. His stomach was clearly telling him that he needed to eat. It gurgled a bit, the annoying pang in his stomach hit as he headed for the elevator.

The doors were open and off to the right House could see part of what he knew was Foreman. _Great, _he thought sarcastically. He'd probably have to wait for the next one if Foreman had anything to say about it. The doors were starting to close before he could get within cane's length of them. He watched Foreman lean forward—pressing a button? The doors paused in their movements, and then continued in the opposite direction, becoming open again. House entered and gave Foreman a raised brow. He pressed the door close button with his cane and watched them as they shut him and Foreman from what seemed like the rest of the world.

There was silence at first, with House sneaking glances at the other to see what he might have been thinking. Nothing. Not even the slightest evidence of an evoked emotion or thought of any sort. It sort of reminded him of Wilson in the period where they weren't talking.

"I'm not gonna bite you," Foreman joked dryly without looking in House's direction.

"He speaks!" House became a bit bright eyed, his usual sardonic tone coming back to him.

"He came back to work," Foreman imitated House's tone.

"Really, now?" House sounded over-interested.

"He smiled at me," Foreman replied simply, not quite understanding why he was being so open.

House chuckled lightly. "You're cherishing that smile like a 12 year old girl," he smirked, leaning over in Foreman's direction.

"Shut up," Foreman breathed lazily, not caring about any teasing from his boss. Punching him really did make him feel better. "It's nice to know he's some kind of okay, alright?"

"Whatever you say," House continued nonchalantly, rubbing at one of his bruises. They still hurt as if they were fresh, though the discoloration had subsided.

"Sorry…if they still hurt," Foreman said softly, looking downward.

"It hurts like you hit me yesterday."

"Sorry again. The bruises are fading, though. Learned your lesson?"

"No," House proclaimed proudly. "I'm trying to hold my title as the most inconvenient person in your life."

"Figures," Foreman sighed.

Another period of silence. The doors open, and both men exited. Foreman considered the possibility of House following him, but dismissed it, attempting to keep a less suspicious mind.

"How'd you do it?" House asked, stopping in his tracks. Foreman turned to him with a slightly perplexed look about his face.

"Do what?"

"Make Chase tougher. He'd never argued as boldly as he did when he was seeing you." House's eyes focused on the other's attempting to answer his own question in his mind.

Foreman didn't believe that he had done anything special. He'd just cared for Chase like he'd cared for other partners he'd had in the past. He didn't recall doing anything in particular. He did "normal" things like hanging out and consoling, seeking to learn more about him, even if what he learned made him a bit unhappy.

"I don't know. What, are you trying to steal my techniques?" Foreman asked smartly, flashing a half smile.

"Oh, sure. If anyone, I'd love to follow your example, oh, Loveable One," House matched his tone. "If this keeps up people are going to think that we're the ones who're dating."

"Like anyone would ever believe that I can stand you," Foreman replied, keeping his smirk. "I might not be mad at you, but you're not any more likeable than you were when you started that stupid bet."

"I've realized my mistakes. I've apologized. I'm ready to change my ways," House was obviously mocking him. Foreman countered with a lackluster facial expression.

"Yeah…and Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny are my new best friends."

"Alright, fine. Maybe I haven't become a saint, but that's not changing what I want to do," House said softly, staring hard into Foreman's eyes. "I intend to pursuit the heart of Robert Chase. And you're helping me," House stated confidently.

"Let's not and say we did," Foreman sighed, turning away.

"Oh, come on! There's nothing for you to lose, right? Worse that happens, I drive him back into your loving arms, right?" House bargained.

"Not interested." Foreman shrugged. "I'm not feeding into it."

"Fine, don't feed. It won't change that I'm turning the joey into a wombat again. Abracadabra!" House lifted his cane and extended it outward. "Wanna see me pull a hooker from the end of my cane? Rabbits are overrated."

"Once more, let's not and say we did." Foreman shook his head. "That changing your ways crap is a load of bull," he continued, and turned away, continuing for his destination.

"Lunch? Sure, Foreman, I'd love to join you!" House exclaimed enthusiastically, throwing an arm around Foreman's shoulder.

"Go away," Foreman said flatly, staring out the side of eyes.

"When have you known me to react to an empty threat like that?" House asked, smirking. Foreman could've been more intimidating. He wasn't even putting up a fight.

"There was room for hope. Are you really going to force me to have lunch with you?" Foreman asked, attempting to move House's arm from his shoulder. "Of course you will. It's what you do. I bet you'll even follow me around until you get what you want from me. Or find someone else to get it for you."

"Congratulations, you've won first prize", House smirked. "You're probably the only one who can give me what I want…right now, at least. I'll even treat you as we negotiate."

"Nego…tiate?"

"You know, that talking thing people do to come up with something that makes everyone happy. I scratch your back, you scratch mine? Et cetera, Et cetera…" he trailed off, leading Foreman into the food court. "Pick something. Anything, the limit is 7 dollars and…thirty-four cents."

The remains of a half salad and a bag of Sun Chips decorated the table. Foreman sipped a bit of water before speaking.

"What your terms?" he asked reluctantly, eyeing House suspiciously.

"You help me turn the joey into a wombat again. I believe the euphemism is 'putting me in'?"

Foreman opened his mouth to protest, but House continued.

"I leave you alone for a month. No nicknames, no doing my clinic hours, and if it works, I won't even dangle the wombat in front of you."

Foreman sipped again, wondering what percent chance there was that House was lying. He fell into a thought again…If House really wanted Chase so badly…if House was really seeking his help…this could be advantageous.

"That's not enough for me," Foreman smiled. "What else can you offer me?"

"You obviously still like him…" House mused aloud. "I won't sabotage you if you choose to pursue him again." He probably wouldn't. House hoped he wouldn't. But part of him wanted the competition. A smirk slid onto his face as he thought of this. He wondered who would win if they did compete?

"Why would I do that?" Foreman asked, leaning back into the chair.

"You're in love with him." House said plainly. "You practically beat the crap out of your boss for him. You didn't leave him because you stopped…" House trailed off.

_I left because it wouldn't. _Foreman thought, potentially completing House's sentence. "You don't want me to start thinking like that," Foreman smirked. He felt as if he had been picking up on some of House's traits. It was too late though, and he knew it. He was already feeling competitive. He could feel his heart rate increase. He knew his mind was going to be shooting of ideas in a matter of seconds.

"Like what? Am I going to inspire you to take back what's yours?"

"…Actually, yes," declared Foreman with an almost enlightened smile. "You're sure you won't sabotage me?"

"There's a twenty dollar charge for breach of contract." House offered his hand and Foreman took it up, both men giving a firm shake and what may have been competitive smirks.

But Foreman had a plan, ideas buzzing in his brain like an unbolted car tag fighting against the deep bass produced by an amazing sub-woofer. An amazing plan, if he'd say so himself. A House-ish plan. But that's what made it brilliant.

Chapter Twelve-End 

A/N:

'Sup? Hope you guys enjoy. I have a surprise for you little duckies—there will probably be a sequel to What I Believe! Great, right? I hope you guys think it's great, because I wanted a sequel since…I thought up the first parts of this fic. R&R and luff pancakes for the no flames, as always. I'll probably be updating pretty soon. The hiatus is over! At least for this fic, at least. I admit that I do need help for Race. I'll probably rewrite parts of it…and maybe I'll have a beta or something. That'd be awesome. Until the next Chapter, you guys!

-N. Hiiro.


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